a man with the fairest of hair.
In his scuffed office boots and his ill-fitting suit,
he passes as nobody cares.
His trousers don't cover his socks,
his rucksack is worn far too high.
At about 5 foot tall with his glasses so small,
he lives an uncomfortable lie.
On his badge it says he's in data,
a man of tech and computers.
He fits the description of a nerd's disposition,
but he's not your average commuter.
By day he works with big numbers,
but by night he kills the un-dead.
He wipes blood from his hands as he steps on the tram,
in his bag sits his last victim's head.
He shuffles along quite immobile,
his muscles must ache from the fight.
A suit that's too short? That's the least to report,
of a man that kills after light.
Fight on, you fair haired destroyer,
fight on for our right to survive.
Your suit might not fit and you look like a tit,
but it's you that keeps us alive.