Writing the lines
Of yet another blood tale
Machete in hand
Psychotic look

You are a weakling
You are a fool
To think that I would
Have mercy on you

Don't try to run, don't try to hide
Your desperation feeds my anger
Your lies reach my ears
And act like a catalyst to a homicide

Undying wish to impale
The thirst for blood fills me
The prey awaits for its own demise
It's time to die, it's time to die

Tearing off your guts
Severing your flesh
Blood painted walls
Your brains spread across the room

I find pleasure in killing
And feasting on your corpse
I see no problem in being
A murderer with no remorse