Corpse Massacre - His Art
piled in death, corpse rotten in flesh
the scent repelled demons, caught in this mess
a nest so grotest, the human eye would bleed
and the nose would run blood, to listen or to read
reflection of satan indeed, serial killers masterpiece
he stands tall with his axe, takes pride in slashing each
with no regret at ease, his heart was black and dull
he spit on the corpse, with no remorse at all
a sickened scene, viewing knifes stuck in between...
a 2 year olds spleen, and a mother still grasping her teen
but he calls it his art, his expressions were gore
instead of stopping his brush, he painted it more
the strokes were deep, impailing while the kids peep
scream a echoes leap, while the red blood seeps
locked in a basement, it felt like enslavement
bodies layed across the pavement, lined in perfect placement
you can call it sick, but he'll never pass this blur
he holds the knife as he says "forever corpse massacre"
