thirty one years in the making trails of littered dead from Ohio to Wisconsin his trophies are their heads at eighteen years of age he made his first kill invite him in for a beer leave him never will
exhilaration dominant thrill defy the weak the addicting kill stench horrid odor rampant in his room if his walls could talk they'd tell tales of doom
littered limbs scattered room to room asystole fibrillation to remove the victims soul hopes of consumption
his molesting as he drugs crying slowly close your eyes bloody soaked smelly rugs now is time for you to die
gays minorities satisfy his morbid kill in his refrigerator body parts he chillsTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
