The Strike
A short Assassin's Creed poem posted up because I can.
Napoleon Bonaparte's,
Head was blown apart,
By the hidden one
With his secret gun.
Through the crowds he wade
With his hidden blade
There were victims many,
Witnesses none.
Through hordes and hordes of enemies they slice,
Your life may depend on the roll of a dice.
Never outgunned or outnumbered or outwitted,
Nothing is true,
Everything Permitted.
Short, I know, but it's up there I guess. Love, flame, whatever pleases you most. Good Day.