Madman
The sound of a heart beating in his chest,
The pleasure of the kill still upon his tongue—
Blood dripping from his lips,
The madman, the crazed madman.
O, he is an enemy of life,
The heart beating within him that of his victims—
Tell me why murder is not a word,
Mr. Madman, crazed Mr. Madman.
The knife he used to slit the throats,
Still gored with red liquid—
The gun he used to blow apart the body,
Why Mr. Madman, why crazed Mr. Madman?—
Alone I stand staring at his last victim,
Blood upon my pale hands—
What has happened,
Mr. Madman, crazed Mr. Madman?—
The thrill of taking that life,
Coursed through the madman’s veins—
I would know this,
I am the madman, the crazed madman—
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