The shadows danced upon the lectern,

and a great wind beat upon the door,

and the secrets spoke slowly, softly,

masquerading as the great downpour.

Candles flicker'd in the treacherous chamber,

and Cassius paced upon the floor,

and to himself he spoke in murmurs,

debating how, and not wherefore.

In room the next there slept the preacher,

and next to him his faithful whore.

And upon the desk there lay the money;

counted out: at least three-score.

Knife in hand marched the assassin,

back and forth and then thrice more.

But, moving quickly, he struck his foot

and from his mouth there came a roar.

Eyes wide-open and a bit afraid,

the Preacher groaned and softly swore.

He donned his coat and sallied forth

from the room and to explore.

From the room the killer fled,

off to commit his deed of gore.

Thinking thoughts of joy and mirth,

through the night he swiftly tore.

Thunder crashed as he arrived,

And entered he as the poor man snored,

And did the deed and killed the man,

And in his soul was nothing more.