Honesty was never his trademark
He dealt in blood and money
He was rarely seen by anyone
Wen he was he wore the same thing
Black cloak and boots
Knife and gun at his hips, ready to use
His hair was long and dark
His eyes red and hungry for death
The authorities could never catch him
The only ones who met him were his bosses
The ones that paid him to kill
The business that he was so good at
He never left any trace but he always left a card
A single red rose stained with the blood of his victims
He was always on call, ready to kill
He always watched
His eyes red and hungry for death
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