Your eyes are opened oh, so wide,
And darting, right to left.
My dear, have you the brain worms?
Do they, in your head, be-nest?

That tendency to play with knives,
The creatures you make dead,
All make me wonder if there’s something
Wrong. Inside your head.

But I don’t think I care too much,
It doesn’t really matter.
What’s it to me if you enjoy
A casual blood splatter?

I cannot judge if you kill pups,
It alters not your being,
And whether drenched in blood or not,
It’s always you I’m seeing.