The Evil That Men Do

Let me tell you a tale,



Of a long forgotten deed bleak and pale,



Yet harrowing was the wickedness of the deed,



Oh so many had to bleed,



'Twas a night like no other,



Where men actually acted like brothers,



Except for one little soul,



With a stirring dark beyond his control,



Hatred burned deep in his eyes,



In his mind people would viciously die,



He spent the night sharpening his one gleaming knife,



Thinking how festivities could so end in strife,



When the celebrations were over and everyone in bed,



He practiced his dark art through books he read,



Creeping through so many windows in dead of night,



The look in those dead eyes would have caused a fright,



Only fires of hatred burned,



To see the world no longer turn,



To see the knife fell the brave,



And send heroes to an early grave,



He crept through the windows of those drunk on wine,



He cut like a butcher slicing his swine,



House he to house he went moving his blade,



The bloodstains would be long to fade,



When the sun at last arose,



Two parties went from friend to foes,



The festivities were forgotten as everyone blamed,



Just pawns in this dark man's little wicked game,



So words turned to fists and fists to swords,



Thus many more souls were sent to the lord,



Oh this took such a dark path,



When guided by an evil man's wrath