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Awaiting your sentence |
|
Locked up in you hell |
|
Your crime will now be tested |
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By the jusry representing death |
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Bitterness inside you |
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All you feel is hate |
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Not for the vicious crime |
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But for the victims you kept alive |
|
|
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Incision, precision, remove the limps |
|
The pulse beats on, the body won't turn cold |
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I stab, I drill, my intension's clear |
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My hands they squeeze, but the bastard won't die |
|
|
|
Hang him high |
|
No remorse for the crimes you've done |
|
Hang him high |
|
Blood on your hands won't wash away |
|
|
|
Waiting on deathrow |
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Staring at the walls |
|
This cell is closing up on me |
|
Memories I cannot defeat |
|
|
|
I stab, I drill, my intension's clear |
|
My hands they squeeze, but the bastard won't die |
|
|
|
Hang him high |
|
No remorse for the crimes you've done |
|
Hang him high |
|
Blood on your hands won't wash away |
|
|
|
A scarred and abused soul |
|
Tries to cope with life |
|
Hiding in your twisted game |
|
He was dead before he started to feel alive again |
|
Now justice will take it's toll |
|
|
|
Hang him high |
|
No remorse for the crimes you've done |
|
Hang him high |
|
Blood on your hands won't wash away |
