Untitled
©1998-2000 White Spirit
A slave to death, victims defiled
Bodies heaped in rotting piles
I hunt the streets for targets fresh
Culling the human herd
Scatological torment, painful excavation
Stenching rivers of rectal undulation
Erasing their features brings peace of mind
Can't have them stare when their bodies I grind
Scornfully gloating, pathetic sheep
As I frantically carve I hear them bleat
Hate drives me, directing my rage
Mouths froth blood as I hack
The delight I take in ruthless slaying
Orgasmic ruptures as I'm flaying
To skin the cadavers they're strung up and dried
Savoured when pickled or eaten when fried
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