Lighting outside, Cold winds flow. Was heading for a ride, But feeling a bit low. Grabbed a cup of coffee, Sipping it slow. Why the hell— A cracking voice is coming from the floor below? Trust me, those scratching noises make this day the worst, Like a rusted object, now covered with dust. Trusted brain now searching for the flaw, Might be that same old kitty playing with her claw. But when I took a look, I found a long-bearded stranger, Sharpening his knife — weirdly, seemed like danger. I think he’s out there planning some crime; Not the perfect time for me to make things rhyme. A single candle beside him glows weakly, He looks up at me… and blows it out very quickly.