Invite us into your identity,

Who is this bizaare stranger, wallowing in secrecy?

Concealed, secretive, yet somewhat beautiful.

Talk to us in your harsh, yet calming whisper;

An evil spirit?

Arisen from the darkness of the mind controlling ouija..

Taking toll on the quiet village surrounding us.

Lift your head and glance around,

Crimson fluid attacking the city streets like a traffic jam.

Death has gotten grasp of our throats,

And tampering with our believed to be innocent minds,

Our homes, lives, family growing deserted of feeling,

We ask you, will we never see the end of summer?

Believe in our thoughts, stranger; we  have not sinned,

You seem to wander these foreign streets,

And as soon as our backs turn away,

You make a dastardly strike,

With a glistening knife.

Making us want to say 'so long',

Please, tear off the mask, show the world your empty pools of sin.

Dismiss your unneeded weapon...

Our town and foundations have been ruined,

Now ruin your identity?

Reluctantly he removes his cover,

He closes his eyes, droops his visage.

Speaking so softly, so, so softly,

"I had my heart broken in this town,

By the only person in my world,

Life has broken me,

I am returning the favour. I apologise."

And then it began to rain.

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