Ten little hunters, sitting in a row,
Shot by a friend, there's nine left to go.
Nine little hunters, sitting in a row,
Demon took another - there's eight left to go.
Eight little hunters, sitting in a row,
John sold his soul,
Seven left to go.
Seven little hunters, sitting in a row,
Sin killed one, and six left to go.
Six little hunters, sitting in a row,
Vampires turned another,
There's five left to go.
Five little hunters, sitting in a row,
Dean's deal is up...
There's four left to go.
Four just couldn't lose number five,
Just can't do it, a gun took his life.
Three fell just after four and five,
Why did you think Bobby would survive?
Two little hunters left in the row,
Ellen's gone...that leaves Jo.
One hunter left to start it all again,
Luckily for us, she had friends.
One is two, three, four, five,
Maybe...
Just maybe...
We can survive.
A/N: Well, that was odd. This is the kind of thing I start thinking of at three in the morning when my iPod dies. I feel kinda proud - this is the first poem I've ever written that makes any sort of sense. It's based on a children's rhyme - I don't remember what it is, but the darn thing's stuck in my head now.
The deaths in order of mention are:
William Harvelle (shot by John)
Pastor Jim, or Caleb (both killed by Meg)
John Winchester (sold his soul)
Isaac (killed by the Seven Deadly Sins)
Gordon Walker (turned by vampires and killed shortly after)
Dean Winchester (sold his soul...damn there's a trend in that family)
Sam Winchester (murdered - nobody would be around to watch his back)
Bobby Singer (I'll leave that open to interpretation, but let's just say this - he's not as young as he used to be)
Ellen Harvelle (you can just guess this one)