In the alleyway, under the moon's pale light,
Rats scurry and squeak through the depths of the night.
With quick little feet and tails that flick,
They dart and they dodge, so clever, so slick.

But I stand with a stick, ready and steady,
The air grows thick as I'm primed and ready.
A smack, a crack, a swat in the dark,
The rats scatter fast, but I've made my mark.

In shadows they whisper, in corners they hide,
But none can escape when I'm taking a stride.
The rat race is fierce, they scamper and fight,
Yet none will remain in the pale moonlight.

A smack, a smack, as quick as a flash,
I strike and they scatter with a quick, startled dash.
But what do I gain, what victory’s won?
Just silence again when the night is done.

For the rats will return, like shadows and dreams,
Clever as ever, or so it seems.
And tomorrow night, the chase will resume,
In the alleys where darkness forever looms.