Confessions of a Killer
Murder held dear is like death so sweet
The aroma of flesh, of rotting meat
The moldy skin and puss filled sores
Eyes the texture of a sandy shore
Your death is marked by an oozing third eye
A telltale sign of how you died
The eye stares blankly out into space
None will know the last horror it faced
You looked at my pistol and begged for your life
You told me you had children, a home and a wife
My response was a quick "Then tonights not your night."
When my words faded away, so did your life.