The Tallyman by Franko Sinatra

An intake of breath whispered the threat of another assault like a viper's hiss before the poisonous kiss.

I arose like a tortured dream speaking carpenter. A tradesman turned to profit by a man-made behemoth made mad by the atrocities perpetrated in It's name.

Arose like an axe-imbedded-in-head zombie. Like a vampyre from it's coffin, sort of.

Straight backed, heavy arms at my sides, straightening from my hips.

The glue peeled from the bar leaving a fine nut crust to my one- month-passed-stylish facial hair.