The mind of an art.
A mastermind in the least.
Tearing out hearts.
A murdererous beast.
To think they'll find them.
Hidden so well.
Do all be condemmed?
To suffer as I dwell?
Sure I feel bad, maybe seldom.
As I walk over their bodies.
To think who'dve held them?
Not to care, in the very very least.
To keep a strong mind, a murder in the beast.
The search goes on, they'll never find them.
Hidden so well, but should all be condemmed?
Not me, not me- my stomach soaks lightly.
Hands and a mind, guilt is slightly.
The art of murder, a mastermind at rest.
I've slaughtered them all, brutal at my best.
The scene now grey, and my hunger is fed.
To know now all, those bastards are dead.