Out from the dark, where I lurk and wait Without remorse, but with furious hate Relentless slaughters, ruthless kills Looking for victims just for the thrills One with evil, one with my deeds I crave blood to satisfy my needs Countless bodies I've slaughtered in the past The few who have discovered, didn't last Human remains, dead and maimed In my collection of cracked heads Piles of bodies, chopped in half In my collection of cracked heads Their fate ends the same, with the necks I break I must keep all the souvenirs that I take The cracking sound always gets me ecstatic So does my collection of the macabre in the attic Decorated with skulls and stripped limbs I call it art, some consider it grim It is my refuge from reality No one knows of my urge or insanity