The Slaughter of Oakstown

Blissful tears and alacrity,
The shadow in the horizon told a story,
Unfolding itself as it drew closer
- A myth not a day older.

They could see the silhouette,
It was a man, considered lost by then.
They could see his worn out hat,
The wind tried to take it, to make a catch,
Alas the figure was alive and full of breath.

It kept coming closer and closer,
Close enough to distinguish his face from the darkness,
Close enough to see he had returned.
Close enough to see the murder on his grin,
As the drunk fought around and poured down gin.
He got too close, revealed too much,
They thought him mad, out of touch.

They shot him down where he stood,
A lost member from a lost brotherhood.
To this day, they await his return
But there is no silhouette to be seen,
Just ashes in an urn and killers far too keen.