Blood on the Cleaver

The ghosts feed on your cries
You will rot in from the storm outside
Worms will eat away your rotten mind
as motionless you fucking lie
Death will come and Death will try
Death’s hand, death’s fucking hand is mine
Shadows of darkened gloom
Will feast on you in the this darkened room

If it matters, I’ll be by your side
as you take your last breath and die
Those won’t work, those puppy dog eyes
In minutes those will be mine
I am Every shadow you see on the wall
Every one scary, big and tall
You will see the sun never again
Never utter another name

The blood on the cleaver is not my own
The blood on the cleaver you’ve been shown
The blood on the cleaver has a bright red glow
The blood on the cleaver is your own

With this mark I thee we’d
Your horrible soul with the tortured souls of the dead

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