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THE THORNS, THE PAIN, THE HORROR
(Lizzie Borden: United States, 1892)

As fascinating thorns
The hate grows inside her heart
Silently shaping
Those constant pain and sense of solitude
Transforming her rigid soul
And maniacally picture
A bleak paint of horror
A serenade of murders
Celebrated by the blade

The thorns, the pain, the horror
She feeds inside
The thorns, the pain, the horror
She wields her torment
For the world is full of sins
And they will last forever!
She took an ax
And laughing she believed
That she will strike down with hate!

The house was engraved
In an absolute silence
Finally only her mother inside
Her and the ax

Laughing, screaming, violently hitting
Reducing her face to mush
Forty whacks and when she saw what she had done
She went downstairs and gave her father forty-one!

The terrible voice of death itself
Filled those rooms
The strong stink of blood
Her figure stands expressionless

Silk is burning…

A morbid archetype of slaughter
To cage the mind
Beyond the human sin’s perception
Her emotions were petrified
Cast away to raise
The cult of the Gorgon with bloodstained hands!

The thorns, the pain, the horror
She spread outside
The thorns, the pain, the horror
She wields her torment
For the world is full of sins
And they will last forever!
She took an ax
And laughing’ she done it
She struck down with hate!

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