Deep in the pitch
Of darkest, moonless night
They wait for my time to come
The wail of terrorizing fright
They will cheer for my screams
They will laugh at my pleas
Mercy, a toy to be taunted with
Sweet death, the end all agrees
The giant razor will drop
To sever a neck rather kept intact
My fate sealed by the magistrate
The morn dawns on my death, a fact
Restless slumber, a prelude viewing
Of horrors yet to come to pass
Lucid dreams, rusted metal flashes
Horrid thick sounds, heads roll past
I see the Reaper of Souls laughing
Gliding toward me with purpose
His scythe gleaming wetly red
Hungering for me, for my justice
As the sun creeps above the horizon
The piper comes to collect his due
This murderer will now face his punishment
As the headsman takes his queue