Stealing through the dead of night,
The assassin stalks his prey,
Caring not what is wrong and what is right,
The assassin draws his pay,
He is an oily shadow,
Stealing through the sunny day,
Does he care that his prey is aware? No.
For the assassin shall still steal his life away.
The is no right or wrong, no black nor white,
For the assassin, there is only gray,
Stalking his prey through the murky night,
He shall do his job, and will no longer stay.
Among the beech, the rowan, the trees of ash,
The assassin waits the time away,
Waiting for his prey to make a move too rash,
Then, the kill! And on his way.