Sweet Little '66

Yashimbawula! (the watchman's fire is burning)

What happened to the diamonds in your eyes,
What happened to the hunger for the day's chase?
What happened to the electric smile
That danced across your face
We used to talk about changing the world
Now all you want to do is change your name
Come on baby don't surrender now
to the empty heart of these days.
We used to talk so deep into the night
You had the heart of a wild horse running
You bared your soul to me
and we both knew these days were coming

Chorus:
These days -- blood in the heavens


Narcotic Genocide

Honed adge of deceasement, carving the sign of evil bliss.
Body left perforated, innocent victim of a twisted sickness.
Face slashed beyond recognition, broken pieces fall form the skull.

Intestinally punctured, bleeding internally.
Bursting shocks of pain, exceed.
Subsequent mutilation, violence infests in a man.
Leaves him burning with anger, outburst from hell.
Suffer with every dying twitch, gored remains of the human shell.
No one left to hear your cries, burcher's soul fails to be satisfied.

Psychotic, deranged, abominated.
Multiple stab wounds, malefic incarnated.
Termination's tool bites unwilling flesh.
Infinite blood can never, can never quench.

Painful suffering attacks the mortal sie of real life.
Conscience hears only words advising it to strike.
Alliance with the blade, obsession bores into the mind.
Trail of violence without end, string of corpses left behind.
To avoid the capture of your many mentors.
Forever slicing life to sustain your own.

Burning sensation inflicted.
Leaving the body lacerated and bruised.
Emotions transpired as rage, leaving multiple stab wounds.
Overcome by the malevolence, deprived of an end without pain.
Corpse lies in an alley with inflictions, to rest you pray.

Psychotic, deranged, abominated.
Multiple stab wounds, malefic incarnated.
Termination's tool bites unwilling flesh.
Infinite blood can never, can never quench.

A soul infested with nihilist beliefs leaves it burning abhorred.
Evil intentions covered with disgust, possession undertakes its bloody chore.

Final strike of the mayhemic knife, as he lay gasping.
To become one with the ground.
The last to look upon his eyes is the next to adorn the assasin's crown.

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