Timothy

He’s as green as mint, eyes as black as the dark.
You see him you’re dead, no matter how hard you fart.
The tap of his feet,
the hiss of his boom,
are the signs of an upcoming house- bye-bye.
He stalks through the forest,
looks through your window,
then is chased-away by your cat.
If you don’t have one, you’re pretty much dead.
BANG!
Goes your redstone.
BANG!
Goes your house.
And SMASH!
Goes your keyboard and maybe your mouse.