Connoisseur's Of Death by Waking The Cadaver
My thoughts control me.
i can't hold back any longer,
i must commit these acts,
my fantasies compel me,
planning this perfect crime.
i have studied your surroundings for months now.
i know exactly when to make my move, and exactly how i'm going to make my move.
a perfect murder to me is all about strategy,
so unaware as i stalk flawlessly,
repeatedly in my dreams i have pulled this job.
in front of the mirror as you prepare for sleep,
this is when i sneak behind and put the barrel of the shotgun to your head,
i like it when you see my face.
a blow to the skull, i make sure your still alive.
i only kill quick when necessary, but this is a score i must settle.
now is when my fantasies come, so i reach for my blade
inflicting this mutilation, slashing your face, stomping your body,
i love to see you in such pain, for this pain is my extasy.
suck the barrel, and look at me in the eye,
do you think i really give a fuck about what i'm going to do?
decapitated by 12 gauge slugs, i can't even recognize half your body anymore.
your family will probably tell the authorities i'm a suspect,
so i eliminated them before i eliminated you,
dragging you to the basement, i place you with the rest,
nude, in perverted positions with your loved ones.
fiendishly i masturbate to the scene i have created,
the investigators are going to be shocked.
my payoff, my crime gets televised,
overwhelmed with laughter as i realize,
they'll never catch me