This' the season of love and lust,
but for this reason
death is a must.
death is a must.

You partied, you danced.

Quick to forget those who were now in your past.

Beneath the surface

we were calmly

unaware death would soon claim our names.
The scent of methane lingers
in the air,
now igniting my disgust
buried now in the darkest grave.
Somehow I am surfaced,
somehow I am saved.
Tortured now by thoughts of love,

I rise to my feet,
in uniform I stand.

This mask will show no

emotion in a time of lust.
This axe will carve,
put and crush.

One by one I claim their lives,

but chering their hearts as a trophy of my scars.

You shall know suffering.

You will all feel this pain.
Never again will you dance or parade.

I have returned.