Assassin

Sunlight warms the sultry surface of the water, pure and clear
The reeds of plenty cast a shadow on the strangers ugly stare
The object of his cascade vision lined with thoughts of red eyed glare
Are the ones he aims his sights on leaving lives in cold despair

The Assassin sings his lonely lovesong
'See you in Hell on a clear day!'

Hot, the heated smile on which he draws his latest breath
His fingers tensed draw on the artists delights of trigger happy journalists
Compete they do for the best sorrowful obituary,
Just to make a Bob or Two.

The Assassin sings his lonely love song
'See you in Hell on a clear day!'