The dark crow man sits and stares into the oblivion into cold into nothingness; it's snowing in
his mind
He's created himself in his own image Lust held for him means naught, a knock on the door
brings no smile to his cruel lips;
the welcome in a woman's eyes holds nothing for him
Alone on his haunches the hair raises on the back of his neck His dead eyes pierce the night
As his gaze falls down on the city it fills him the method ascertained, conviction
He knows what to do and moves to commit the deed