作曲 : Gordon, Hartman, Ipri ...
You never can get used to the smell of burn victims, 
Or the sight of a dead child, 
So repulsed yet 
I can't look away, heads separated, exhumed from twisted wrecks 
Sifting through the debris, identifying the bodies, pronounced dead. 
Adrenaline rush when screams and cries collide in such perfect harmony, crosses on the roadside symbolize the shattered memories, 
I often envision the broken bodies on collision. 
The overwhelming pain, their final words, thoughts of loved ones watching them fall dead...satisfies the morbid curiosities 
Stimulating the crazed imagination. 
Exhilaration, inhaling the stench of incinerated flesh, gut wrenching reality, the goriest of all homicides. 
Thirst the blood of suicide, revisiting the crimes sights of nauseating death scenes. 
Their brutalized, inanimate images in the morgue fascinate. 
Witnessing appalling autopsies, victims of catastrophes crippled and paralyzed, facial lacerations, pieces of the amputated. 
Anxious for more when they bleed so viciously 
I crave for this world of violence. 
When the shrieking intensifies in agonizing surgeries. 
Life so sacred, yet defouled with such carelessness my mind bleeds tragedies.