**The Golden Demon and The Silver Spirit:
A Dance of Death.**
_Our performance begins._
The victims take their places,
As Jhin raises his voice -
For each of them a part to play,
For each of them, a choice.
And as the curtains open,
The performers don their masks,
The Wolf, The Virtuoso,
And the Lamb, that lightly asks:
_“Will they all go softly?”_
To which the Wolf replies,
_“No! They’ll thrash and panic!”,_
With hunger in his eyes.
And so begins the drumming,
As Wolf prepares and grins,
And Lamb pulls back her silver bow,
To start the violins.
And as Jhin’s pistol rises,
So too does the Wolf’s glee,
The terror strikes a frenzied note,
As the actors go to flee.
And as the tempo quickens,
Gold and crimson fills the air,
For death’s a booming, boisterous thing,
And violence has its flare.
Wolf and Jhin take centre stage,
As Lamb watches the slaughter,
The curtains’ called, Jhin’s shots ring out,
And Wolf comes, shrieking, after.
And as the music quiets down,
Gold and silver streak the stage.
The notes run slow and sombre,
As beauty hushes rage.
And down from the crescendo
Comes the graceful, quiet chilver,
As Lamb lets loose a silent bolt,
An arrow, soft as silver.
The piano twinkles beautifully,
“I’m ready”, the man whimpers.
For death’s a gentle, subtle thing
- It does not shout, it Whispers.