EVERY TIME THE SHADOW COMES

The shadow hit us all,

as it flew in overhead.

It perched upon the steeple,

staring over our city

with arson eyes.

There it waits.

Pulling apart a hummingbird,

in a 'loves me,loves me not' manner.

Feathers wet with blood don't float,

but drop fast onto the sinners below.

Though we're too wise with our own

to even look up,aren't we?

We just wipe off the blood,

and wait to see who it came for.

Repeating to ourselves between the shivers,

"It can't be me,

it can't be me"...