Post-Punk Dark Knight: Shadowplay by Butcher Billy

To the centre of the city where all roads meet.

In the shadowplay, acting out your own death, knowing no more, 
As the assassins all grouped in four lines, dancing on the floor, 
And with cold steel, odour on their bodies made a move to connect, 
But I could only stare in disbelief as the crowds all left. 
 
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