The forbidding night is clam and crisp,
Not a sound is heard, but his coat wisps.
A deadly sign of things to come,
Some warpath he is on, beating like a drum.
The throbbing thought of malignant deeds,
Maybe he'll just throw her in the weeds.
She lies there as if everything is well,
Where in reality, a grave she will dwell.
Soft is her voice as she sings a song,
Death is near and rings its gong.
Bumping the table, a glass takes a spill,
Shattering its liquid, like his first kill.
She turns in fright to see tears in his eyes,
A saintly front for such vile lies.
In one swift motion her skin is thrashed,
Her clothes are torn, and skull is bashed.
What power and strength he showed in his might,
He had been vile, and knew it wasn't right.
PsychoNeurosis, an impluse he expressed,
He killed her just so she could lie with the rest.

GenoCide ěVOiDě