The Tale of Manda

Somewhere in the future far far from here
There once lived a man in a shanty made of brass
Who would laugh when he killed which he did for many years
With a knife from behind a panda mask
Gather round for the tale of the man known as manda Pandemonium sadness and hate
Swirled around in his soul hurricaining and boiling what a Wretchedly miserable fate
For a chap who was hapless as this on his wall hung newspaper clips and a list
Now I can't say that I’ve entertained the mind of a murderer but it Might be like this
He was sent here by gods in a basket abandoned on a doorstep October thirty-first
With a mask in the likeness of a panda attached to his head since an unholy birth
Raised by a lonely autistic man who thought this child was as an
Imaginary friend
He stabbed him viciously in the face over his birthday cake when he turned only ten

NARRATOR
And so Paul walked down the shadowy road with toadstools as high as trees on both sides. He shuddered thinking about the wax statues of the characters he drew. The huge museum loomed on the hill behind him, and little did he know, a living, breathing Manda followed him silently, hidden by shadows…

The evil that men do ain't the evil that manda
In his bloodstained jeans and leather sandals
He would stand under streetlamps at 4 in the morning on brisk winter nights in plain view
Mute as a corpse while the heat from his breath churned out in a thick heavy plume
Eyes with no pupils stared thru the mask at his prey in a grim solitude
His killings were gruesome and quick sometimes babies were hung
From a pole
And he would draw portraits of his victims in vivid detail from the
Basement of his home
Pipes dripped from the ceiling as his hand ran across chronicling life that was lost
Signed with a kiss from his bloody manda lips then he'd stab with his knife each portrait to the wall

NARRATOR
Questions raced through Pauls mind. How did those statues get there? Where was he?
Fighting tears, this place was scary
He came to a bustling street
Where people with shoes for faces and pig noses went about their daily business
Being Nobodies
Movies playing across their foreheads and hands made of yarn
Though he was the only one who looked like a drawing, he was one of them
Poor children were everywhere
Suddenly, he felt a light tap on his shoulder
A tall pale, strong looking bald man with silver eyes and silver teeth stood before him, smiling thru a long fu man chu. The stranger took a deep bow
“Greetings Boy. Ransom, King of Thieves, at your service. Best you step with me here into the shadows, away from the eyes of your stalker. We’ll walk through The Nobody City for a while, there is much you need to know.”