Here you come, without a sound, slinking low, slunking around, around the corner, and down on the ground, seems to me that's way you always come slithering into town.

You sneak up on the young and steal their breath, startle the old, and give those in the middle crisis untold.

You muddle up lives, leave families a mess, when you silently come stealing and causing undue stress.

Sneaking high, sneaking low, forvever sneaking, sneaking, is that all that you know.

Does it make you giddy when you strike a fatal blow.

Your sneaking turns happy people sad, it makes the weak and strong cry, because you've made them so damn mad, and robbed them of their health on the sly.

What makes you tick Sneaky Pete?

Is it the sadness, the surprise or the hearts that cease to beat. Why would you pleasure yourself at someone else's pain?

Is it the only way that you can survive, draining the very life from those you touch, like a giant tick on a dog, you suck the lifeblood from those who are loved very much.

Crawl away, Sneaky Pete, go back to hell's caverns from where you came.

Leave us our life, our happiness, our love's sweet game, and take with you the sadness, desvastation and pain.

©2001 Lloydene F. Hill