His touch is a knife, his gaze a poison,
He steals into the night and unveils his person.
His face so handsome, and those eyes so dreamy,
You’d never imagine that the Satan lies underneath.
His grace, his charm, and the words he’d speak,
Would make you believe he’s an Angel, indeed.
He captivates you with his enchanting ways,
Gives you every pleasure and asks you to stay.
It feels like dream as he fixes his gaze upon you.
I tell you ‘tis a poison, but you believe it to be untrue.
He takes your hands and touches your skin.
And in all his passion, the cut of the knife, you don’t feel.
And as he’s killing you passionately, you slowly begin to realize,
The Satan behind those dreamy eyes, and the peril that lies inside.
You struggle to get away, you struggle to be free.
Alas! It’s of no use; he’s already tightened his grip.
Now, near your pyre I stand and lament, “Oh dear!
So hard I tried to warn you of the Passionate Murderer.”
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