Let the knife be swift

The best of crimes is the one that is quick and silent
It creeps up from behind
Stalk­ing you on velvet paws
And before you know what’s hit you
You’re down there, there was no shot,
And there’ll be no writh­ing about.
Not even a sound and it’s all over.
Even better if it hap­pens at night:
Dark­ness is a ready-made shroud.
Too slow and it gives you time to think,
Time to be ter­ri­fied, and you’ll go whimpering.
In this game, where the devil plays executioner,
Dis­ease is just an amateur.