As the night creeps in,
The light of lamps fade out
The shadows fill the streets
The houses
The desk of those who thought who were safe
The shadows grow
And in the hall of your house the figure stands
Staring at those papers
As you gasps in terror the figure collects your pieces, adding it to their collection
He gazes at the artwork and flees out the window
Lock those doors, dear young artists
The artstyle stealer might be at yours.
