The Mask

The Mask

Cold eyes, intense glare
The souless form hidden somewhere
His victims helpless to evil schemes
Pray that someone hear their screams
Inside the shell of a heartless man
Is the rotting corpse of an unfinished plan
He lurks behind the dungeon wall
Waiting...for the weak to fall
The wretched smell of broken bones
Ground into the hardened stone
Stripped of flesh they have no breath
Surrounded by the taste of death
So with a forked tongue he will speak
And introduce this king...deceit
Only then will he finish his task
And reveal the man behind the mask.