Alas I hear yet a very familiar sound.
I love the noise of the chainsaw.
Its the sound of bodies hitting the ground.
Oh to see the body part when they fall.
I am known as the neighborhood slayer.
yet no one actually knows who I am.
But I killed the mayor.
Then I sacrificed a lamb.
All of my knives are covered in blood.
Yet I go to church to repent of my sins.
but my sins are covered in mud.
Its time to kill yet again.
The neighborhood slayer will always be free.
They can try really hard, they will never catch me.
a whort_diddy production
Copyright 2003 whort_diddy
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/114/18547 on Saturday October 11th, 2008 05:04 PM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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