Waste.

Your death clock’s counting,
Five. Four. Three.
Simple minds fill mine with glee.

Down the alley and through the day,
Here comes sacrifice,
With a baby named prey.

Take my hand I’ll guide you well,
Through the light that blinds,
To the pits of hell.

Remember my name,
And take great heed,
As I remind you of your once great deed.

As ominous as a black feathered swan.
Your death clock’s counting
Three. Two. Gone.