The waltz of death

The white vintage dress I’m wearing this time,

The alluring, blood stained sickle is this night my partner to crime.

Performing a gentle pirouette upon the rotten copses,

I embrace the dried bouquet of roses,

I lose myself in this deadly symphony,

Start the waltz of death,

I just sold my jaded soul for this sick melody.

 

My heart had been corrupted by this wild twinkle,

By the mellow whisper of the sickle,

With one more step I hear another breaking skull,

They are screaming blood, but to me is null,

The waltz of death revenge will bring,

It just broke �" the last sanity’s string.

 

Smiling, my signature I carve on their torn faces,

I look satisfied at this massacre, 

The floor is covered with whacked corpses,

The walls with blood and guts are painted,

The evidence of the laceration they abided.

In the front of my mangled audience,

The waltz of death I’m performing,

Discontinued by an innocent reverence.

 

The dress is soaked in bitter tears and blood,

The sickle in a chopped thorax is stuck,

Disfigured faces staring at the demented dance,

The waltz of death,

Waiting for the next move destitute of sense,

The last pirouette upon my own guts they haven’t got to see,

While final music note my death will be.