Tale is told of the one who scours,
For his light in the twilight hours.
His human form hath melt away,
With only shadow in its stay.
In the darkness he lay wait,
Until his quarry takes the bait.
With wispy hands he rings a bell,
Beckoning travelers down to hell.
Through his cunning and words so kind,
They happily leave their corpse behind.
Another healthy body obtained,
He searches memories newly gained.
His hapless victims see only the skin,
Unknowing that He resides within.
And once the tortured have downed their friend,
His eternal search will begin again.