A good man.

That awkward moment when you accidentally write something about Morrowind.

But seriously; don't expect someone to just leave if you catch them stealing something important.

The eastern door held no lock or bar

To which my dirty hands

Were unaccustomed to the far

Reaching timber strands

My tip-totalitarian creeping

Kept pace to which I stuck

And as I crept there gently seeping

Through the walls, my luck

Ran out, turn out the lights

We're having death for dinner

And blood for breakfast

Turn out the lights

My shadow stance it seemed was not

Enough to keep the pieces

Of the peace by which I strived and fought

For ages past and gone, it ceases

A twig or a rock or a rat or a lock

A click to guide their hands

The silence broke, we're out of stock

The hourglass's sands

Ran out, turn out the lights

Massacre Mondays

Slaughterhouse Sundays

Turn out the lights

The light kept low, my activity's

Best kept for darker times

A scene of humanity's wondrous lividity

But best you know my kind

You stupid shits, you'll writhe and coil

Cut a good man's trade

So don't expect those greetings when you foil

A good man and his cover fades

Out of sight, turn out the lights

We're having death for dinner tonight

Don't turn on the lights