Hunter of tears, relative pain

Half of this world is dark with the stain

The stain of unknowing the dead flower buds

On smiling lips is innocent blood

The corpse of your God can only rot and grow cold

Now promise me you'll kill me before I get old

I heard you on the telephone moaning my doom

A cold woman will kill me in a darkened room

The chain-saw of the mortician shines

I still got all my fingers but somewhere I lost my mind

I can smell abortion on you I can see thru

I take the gun out of my moth and point it at you