Down to the Cellar

Down to the cellar, the night draws near
Screams of the terror, pleasing to ears
Galloping down the stairs, in gay delight
The happiness comes from your pitiful blight

The saws hacking through the marrow
The needles ready, sharp and narrow
Flowing from the tip is the sleeping potion
Now I feel the notion

Looking upon the doors, placing my ear to the oak
Thinking of how in your blood you must soak
Listening to the sound of your demise
But now comes the real surprise

Releasing the lock, the doors fling wide
Lustfully looking at what’s stored inside
The living paintings I’ve created
The beauty I hide

Several bodies, chained to the wall
To their mothers, their fathers, their Gods they call
Your screams unsuppressed, I feel animosity
I must close your eyes, I paint an atrocity

My name, so sick, etched upon your back
Your breathing becomes shallow, your gaze turns black
Painting with razors, your blood the paint
Upon the canvas, the wall, each syllable taint

This paintings finished, the blood still dripping
Your skin holds your bowels, of which I am stripping
Coils upon coils of the shit-filled snake
Wondering how much more your audience can take

The rest are all appalled, shocked from this vision
Some are regurgitating from the smells of the incision
After the bodies’ still and the luster in its eyes fade
I sever the head with a swing from my blade

Everything’s still now, no one is moving
You may think I’m done, but to myself I’m still proving

Standing there, traumatized and shaking
Having no clue it’s my dream you are making
Next in line, I unshackle the chains
Releasing the grip, blood returns to the veins

Only to be spilled on the floor,
Slice of the scalpel, doesn’t take much more
Laughing and smiling as they drain and pour
Catching in buckets the filth and gore

Serving up cocktails of the coagulated curd,
You deserve nothing more, fucking filthy herd!
You’re eyes the olives, in the glass you drink
Not one of your lives will I ever bethink