Lukewarm water in a small glass bowl
Huddled in a blanket to keep from the cold

A raspy voice that rings in her ears
A raspy voice that brings her to tears

The clouds start to gather and rain starts to fall
A man stands behind her, so dark and so tall

He pulls out his blade and kisses the tip
He covers her mouth and tightens his grip

She falls to the ground, with burden of pain
Why was it her that he chose to be slain?

A smirk of pride spreads ‘cross his dark face
One more down from a long hated race

Digging a hole, he whistles a tune
“Don’t worry, child. You’ll be home soon.”