The Rake

When silence falls upon the house, 

He creeps softly as a does a mouse 

And through the door he hurries quick 

There is no lock that he can't pick 

He hurries to the room he needs 

No stopping for an Earthly greed.

His prize, his prey, lay unaware 

That anything is different there..

As swiftly through the bedroom door,

He crawls across the bedroom floor,

Sitting at the foot of the bed,

Or inching closer to the head,

Listening to the beating heart

Of the one he will tear apart,

The one who will become his meal,

Who never thought he could be real...

Now, wearing shadows as his cloak,

He awaits that fateful clock stroke 

Before he carries out his crime.

First one, two, and then three bell chimes.

He grabs his prey before they scream

Or even awake from their dreams!

Then Through the window with them bounds Making not the slightest of sounds!

Where he takes them, we cannot know,

Some places mortals cannot go...

Pray it's not you he's there to take 

That wretched beast known as the Rake...