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
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