Handling knives with utmost care,
The smell of death lingering in the air,
Blood splattered on everything I wear.
Motive or disease;
A quick kill just doesn't please.
The loud tortured screams,
Tears flowing in streams.
I cause quite a scare,
Limbs of my victims strewn here and there.
They scream that I'm going to Hell,
But oh, very well.
It's better than this society that fell.
I always get away,
In this game that I play,
I love to kill every night and day.
And I will not cry
Over the day I will die,
Because death and I aren't very shy.
I'll kill to my demise,
And I will say no goodbyes,
For it's in the ground where all my friends lie.