Death - The Equalizer

by Prosenjit Chatterji

They call you a slayer,

For me you are a player,

Without the thunder,

You could plunder.

Without the blaze,

You were set to raze.

For settling an old score,

Without blood and gore,

You choked me with a joke,

With your master stroke.

Now that I am dead,

I rather thank you instead,

For returning me my due,

With your brutal rescue.

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