I live for what you would call filth and disgust Someone's loss of blood will power and light my veins I will paint the colour red all over your pitiful world I have the knowledge of making art of your pathetic body A precise stab in your spine and your body is paralysed But your vision still works, you can witness the pain You only see it as cut wounds, I consider it art Painted in the flesh a quick snap and the lights are out The absence of skin and the tearing of flesh People will be shocked by my new exhibition Ten different pieces of agonising death I'm in position, I'll recreate what's left You think my work is done with rage and hatred But you are so wrong, it is done with passion I carefully select what will be my organic canvas Mankind need to discover the beauty of agony What am I becoming? What have I become? Here I am, becoming the final work (A burning self-portrait) Why am I becoming what I am? You seem to find my expressive art so shocking Those who discover my work never really seem to appreciate it Watch me perform this masterpiece, nothing gets more real My signature written in fresh blood What am I becoming? What have I become? Here I am, becoming the final work (A burning self-portrait) Why am I becoming what I am?