Fantastic jester of death come,
His costume black and white,
His locks tied back into a braid,
His right eye patched in spite.
He sat by man of rats and fiends,
Who held his heart in hand.
The jester smiled, though bittersweet,
Pressed up to demon man.
The jester's mind whirled up a storm,
Thought over this crook'd one.
The answer came as he sat there.
He laughed and pulled his gun.
The jester took a step away,
Stared at the man he loved.
His trigger finger quivered so.
He shook though he was gloved.
The man of demons turned away.
He didn't see the gun.
The jester squeezed his eye shut tight.
He twitched and it was done.
The crimson blood began to pool.
The jester called to Death,
He cried, "What have I done?
The breath has stopped, oh Death"
Half jester's face was grinning wide,
The other half sobbed loud.
He never should have met that man,
The demon was too proud.
