I count my bodies,
I count them twice
I like to have a range,
of Naughty and Nice
Young and old,
Human and Critter
The sweet taste of murder
Will never get bitter.
One, two,
Killed you, and you
Three four,
Slammed into the door
Five, six,
Blood seeping from the lips
Seven, eight,
What a gruesome fate
When I get to ninety-three
My heart goes cold from former glee
I howl and turn and you know what I'll say:
"Just seven from three-digits, just one more day
Just one more night for seven more kills
Three physical, four with pills."
Asian or European
Black or White
I love how none of them put up a fight.
And when it's over, when the axe is clean
I'll hide the new 'uns so they can't be seen
I'll open the blinds, turn the kettle on
And all traces of murder are absolutely gone.
