It's True

With eight swollen, broken knuckles At the top of my lungs' last scream I'll take one last swing to prove I'm not the only one Who cares enough to mask the immunity with putrid hate No this is not a threat, but a vow of biblical proportions It can't be denied, the right to die As the clock pulls the hours away he is closer to my grip To jerk the had back and break the neck Is meeting the same fate as the throat I slit OIf I drench my hands in another's blood am I sick? I've been dreaming about the horror of my future Carts with two dead bodies and one hanging on a hook But they all have the same face Sear the fles, cauterize the wound Slice the stomach so the bodies don't float The maggots have eaten through his face And when the suffering come back to haunt me, I'll kill them too Despite this incubus my hands are still clean for now But next time I see his face I won't stop until I feel the conrete through his head And the fourth tally is etched in my walls