She was born at twelve, one stormy midnight;
In one dark sewer, with awful faded light;
Her shrilling cry has blurted out, tired pale sleepers;
But to stun her mother, now gone with the Maker.
Five o’clock lately, one misty lonely dawn;
An infant was found, crying at park’s lawn;
Left freezing to death, but lucky of surviving;
As a man picked her up, gave the chance of living.
Years have passed, she’s a skilled young one;
Swinging knives and guns, such movements are fun;
She’s numb to pain, a monster in the making;
Hard training she’d underwent, to be an assassin.
Growing up to be lovely, bur a weapon of threat;
Blue eyes that pierce, to bring you to your death;
Invulnerable and strong, no one can defeat her;
She’s the fragile being before, the baby in the sewer.
Everyone was deceived, her mark as a holy face;
Headstraight to her victims, made them fall from grace;
Her feelings are empty, no room for mercy;
She has invisible sickle, she has Death’s duty.
But day by day she tires, couldn’t help wondering;
Was she made to be a tool, of stealing and murdering?
She’s a fake immortal, now she hates to live;
Meant to be feared, not a love to receive.
She was walking alone, one stormy midnight;
Back in the sewer, with awful faded light;
But oblivious of an omen, authorities are trailing;
Groping in the darkness, a risky meandering.
They tracked the place, they moved with haste;
But only to find out, an assassin’s bloody face;
She’s lying in silence, the flashlight spotted her;
Too late for her arrest, she’s gone with the Maker.
