Through Their Eyes

Through Their Eyes From singer to sing sing From prayer to slayer This is the story of Mr. Mayer I was a good boy, sang at church in the choir That was when my mother killed my father She didn't kill him, it was more of a slaughter She beat him all the time I thought it would be just another We were in the kitchen, me and my brother I was six, my brother was four She beat him with a shovel Until his head was a puddle When I grew up, I condemned and loathed women They should be helpless like when I was child And man.....that's what I did, and it felt wild It was mostly women with curly brown hair I cut their limbs off with saws and knives Then I made sure they were awake and alive Now they couldn't move or kill anyone I sat them upright, side by side in a row I called them my shelf of useless torsos I had a collection of four Before I was caught But I managed to keep some great snapshots July 30, 2016