FANTOCIDE

My assassin
Lays in wait for me
In the shadows of the night
He cowers fearful
From the light
For his form must not be seen
Who he is I cannot see
My assassin waits for me

He lays silent
In the alleys
And bides his time at coffee stalls
In dark shop doorways
And empty halls
In the quiet his knife gleams
Who he is I cannot see
My assassin silently