In his eyes I saw a deep abyss,
Of an ever growing black pool.
I sensed a lurking bliss;
Although his hair left much to be desire
His façade was flawless
In his effort to mask that he was tired
A grimace is a smile,
In which he bore his fangs,
That hid such hideous bile
His abode is as cold as he,
Warmth flaring only from his ire
Wishing secretly to see how freedom would be
But alas, as the beast struck him cold
He began to see a red friend of old