He stalked into the shadowed vale
His six-gun at his side,
A twelve-gauge strapped across his back
And boots with knives inside.
He spared no glance for lives behind
Nor for the lurking dark
That shivered as he passed it by,
Eyes ever cold and stark.
A shrouded wight stood in his way,
Its bony hand did twitch
White-knuckled on its wicked scythe.
"Not you, son of a bitch!"
The tall man only grinned and told
His foe to go to Hell.
The Reaper bowed and stepped aside,
A past lesson learned well.
Beyond the darkness, blinding light
Caused his hard eyes to narrow.
And still the man stood tall and proud
His back straight as an arrow.
Then thunder roared high overhead.
"My child, you're here at last!
Fear not, I have much work for you
A labor long and vast.
"I am the God of Grace and yet
There must be Justice too.
I hear the cries of the despised
The wicked owe their due.
"Some serve with harps and sing My praise,
Hosannas with each breath.
But you shall sing a different song,
My new Angel of Death."
The tall man kneeled and bowed his head.
"Lord, I shall do Your Will."
And then he smiled, baring his teeth,
"Just tell me who to kill."
Requiescat in pace, Bane.