Here's my late, late Christmas poem that I started on Christmas, but never really got my act together and or finished it in time for even the year's end. *sighs* Oh well. I'm lame.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Baccano! or anything that has to do with it.

CLAIMER: I've also got this sucker up on theotaku (dot) com.

NOTE: Ehhh... *waves hand nonchalantly* I know I'm not accurate; sue me.

The Spirit Called Rail Tracer

Twas the night 'fore we crashed and all through the train

Not a creature was stirring, least those not insane

The gun holsters were worn with such great care,

In hopes that Rail Tracer would get out of there;

The children were hidden in closets and cars,

While adults cowered by the train's dine-in bar,

And with Nice rolling her eyes and Jacuzzi a-crying,

We wandered the train (who's heard of a pussyfoot flying?) —

When out in the hall we heard such a loud din,

I rushed to the scene to see who, or what, had just been.

I thought it no trouble and was a bit nosy,

We flung open the door; the scene was not cozy.

The conductors were dead, it was truly horrific,

The way they were killed, I'll stay non-specific;

When, what happens to catch our sore eyes,

But a shadowy figure, of all places outside,

With his head so low, he looked like a foot-racer,

But oh no, oh no, it had to be Rail Tracer.

Quicker than quick, his pursuers all came,

And he cackled, and hollered, and he sang like a dame:

"Keep trying you morons! Is that all you got?!,

"I've seen grandmas with more fight than you lot!

"Thrown over the side! Tossed under the wheels!

"You idiot dreamers! What a bunch of heels!"

As whisps of fluff are blown by the wind,

The attackers suffered as their numbers thinned;

So across the top of the train they did fought,

With a note on their voice, or so we all thought:

And then we panicked, as we heard on the roof

The smashing and bashing; that was our proof.

At that moment we knew we were over even my head,

The ghoul's very sight filled us all with dread:

His clothes, they were stained, from his hat to his foot,

We could all see quite clearly blood, ashes and soot;

A twist of malice sat there on his lips,

Gleeful and merry through all those backflips:

His eyes — how they shone! They were brighter than stars,

His face, flecked in blood, we could tell from afar;

Happy and merry, sickeningly gay,

I wondered if we would ever see a new day;

He fought this one man whom he couldn't quite beat,

Rail Tracer is not a being known for a defeat.

He was just as blood-splashed and just as joyous,

The situation quickly became quite hideous:

They fought and they spat and they tussled about,

While they wanted to kill, the rest of us wanted out;

Those two were not human with the way they fought

Neither looked worried about getting caught

They taunted and jeered and back-talked it seemed

Neither were concerned that they might get beamed

By the trees or the rocks or even a tunnel quite dark

They still scrapped up there, 'bout as happy as larks.

Throughout all our lives, we'd not seen men this strange

And later in life, we'd see quite a range

Yet I do believe that the best part of it all

Was when Nice wanted to get closer, causing Jacuzzi to fall