The Hunters Come

The Hunters Come

I sit upon my plush chair
In the lair that I call home,
I contemplate my gruesome fate
But hey to each man his own.

My fingers reach to caress my face
Lit by fire and scarred by wounds,
A wicked gleam lights my face
Like a Halloween jack’o lantern in the noon.

Even when so scarred and old
Every soul is new;
To each man who owes
The devil his due.

I’m really not so bad you see
I just find it the most fun
For all the battles lost,
There is always another I have won.

I stand calmly from my chair
A curving smirk crosses my lips
When I hear the approach of the Winchester pair.
This is going to be fun!

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