The man raised his head to the skies, looking for the noise
The third sound of the day, the thirteenth of the week
Looking back down he turned,
Another man approached, elegant,
The former turned to the later, hopeful
He brought a proposition, that man did.
One of hope, one of plenty.
But the former new the truth that lay behind his eyes. The carefully guarded guise,
The lies and crafted disguise.
He was an imposter.
One of those who spoke devilishly and craftily,
But spoke nothing of truth
So he rose the harbinger in his hand, the item of defense from his side
For this was a world where a word was no longer defense, but attack
And he brought it upon the latter.
And when the latter lay dead,
The man returned to watching the skies