Creeping like the night walked a tall mysterious man, down 1920’s Sycamore
Street.
Hooting of the owls, and the clicks of his feet.
He wore a tall black top hat, and a leather coat down to his knees.
Doing this tonight would please him, indeed.
The creaking of the door opening,
He thought the bark of the dog was jokingly.
Looking at the clock, he had almost forgot.
As he ran out of the house, he gave a wild grin.
He said to himself, “The end shall soon begin”
Waiting for the sun to set,
He was positive he would win the bet.
And now once again, the creaking of the door,
Was something he truly did adore?
The wife of his brother, murdered indeed,
Nothing but screams and his brothers plead.
Silvery moon shining over her blood,
His alcohol leads to this historic judge.
Before his doomsday he said, “What made me do all of above?”

 
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