A piper plays a bamboo flute, To charm the man in the sombre suit, Who rocks his head and taps his foot, To a tune played just for him. The van cruises there every day, Doors open (then shut), it drives away, To a small wood cabin by a lake, Where herons take the fish up. The shutters hold out the cold and damp, Light is coaxed from an old gas lamp, On the lake the body finally sank, The pipers work was done. Back in town the next afternoon, The office crowd gathered to hear his tune, A futures broker drifts closer....soon, The red sun starts to fall down. The blacked out van comes around, The city professional follows the sound Of the pipers flute as he is gagged and bound, And a rough blanket thrown over him. (Later with some rocks attached He treads water frantically to hear, Slipping under but feeling no fear, Content. Mesmerized. Happy). And as he sinks he hums the tune, The air bubbles escape while he's smiling, He sways to the pipe standing on the bottom, And the reeds sway along beside him.