Want to see what's hidden in my head?
It's filled with the suffering tortured and dead
Synapses firing going insane
Fight or flight or confused again
Being not right, I like the screams
It's sort of like music if you know what I mean
There's a lot of sticky red stuff flowing from a vein
And everything is covered in a dark bloody stain
The smell is atrocious and makes the eyes water
There's nothing like the aftermath of manslaughter
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