ScarletSpeed
never wrote a poem before in my life, so I know it isn't that good,but I gave it a bash and here is what I got.
Angel of Death
He strides to the door
And puts on his jacket
He heads to his chopper
Causing a racket
He weaves and he bobs
Through the ghost traffic
The lights wizzing by
Looking like magic
He begins to slow down
And pulls up to a clearing
A field of his dreams
Is what he is nearing
He Takes off his helmet
And takes off his jacket
He's craving a smoke
So whips out a packet
Lights up his lighter
And ignites without fail
The flame of the lighter
Will always tell tales
Of havoc, regret and killings in mass
Those stories, it will well
If it's filled up with gas
Puts cigarette to lips
And takes a long drag
And slowly but surely
Takes out of his bag
A list of striked names
On a dirty old rag
He's reading the list
He's checking it twice
He was the cat
They were the mice
He didn't care
Who was naughty or nice.
This was his job
His life sacrifice
He steps off the bike
And lands on a field
"I am the Hitman
A pistol I yield,
I carry one bullet
That's all I will need
I shall tear up this contract
That I signed and agreed"
"I killed as a game
The world was my court
I was the king...
Hell was my fort"
"There was no rush bigger
Than enforcing such madness
Pulling that trigger
And causing that sadness"
"I was the hunter
They were the game
The well has run dry
I've run out of names"
At the bottom of the list
Sits The Angel of Death
He puts steel to skin
And takes his last breath
Angel of Death
He strides to the door
And puts on his jacket
He heads to his chopper
Causing a racket
He weaves and he bobs
Through the ghost traffic
The lights wizzing by
Looking like magic
He begins to slow down
And pulls up to a clearing
A field of his dreams
Is what he is nearing
He Takes off his helmet
And takes off his jacket
He's craving a smoke
So whips out a packet
Lights up his lighter
And ignites without fail
The flame of the lighter
Will always tell tales
Of havoc, regret and killings in mass
Those stories, it will well
If it's filled up with gas
Puts cigarette to lips
And takes a long drag
And slowly but surely
Takes out of his bag
A list of striked names
On a dirty old rag
He's reading the list
He's checking it twice
He was the cat
They were the mice
He didn't care
Who was naughty or nice.
This was his job
His life sacrifice
He steps off the bike
And lands on a field
"I am the Hitman
A pistol I yield,
I carry one bullet
That's all I will need
I shall tear up this contract
That I signed and agreed"
"I killed as a game
The world was my court
I was the king...
Hell was my fort"
"There was no rush bigger
Than enforcing such madness
Pulling that trigger
And causing that sadness"
"I was the hunter
They were the game
The well has run dry
I've run out of names"
At the bottom of the list
Sits The Angel of Death
He puts steel to skin
And takes his last breath
