The Pick-Axe Murders

You thought it was over; it's not over
I'll be back; I brought my axe

In the shadows, alone in the dark
Young victims I stalk

You thought it was over; it's not over
I'll be back

From the grave
To mutilate

Axed in the back
Pick through the neck
Dead like the rest

Molested and left
Limbs split in half
I ruptured their flesh
Puncture wounds
To the head

Bone fragments clot to the hatchet
Knee-deep in the blood of the dead
Cranial separation
Sex with her severed head

Rotten walking dead
Hunting living victims