• Farm a feeling worthy of the Gods
    To kill and then pray, now what are the odds?
    Heaven's own gates decide not to stir
    For the boy who's life just took a wrong turn
    Now it's washed away and he's seeing his faults
    Doubtless, all he wanted were flawless results
    The perfect execution of a plan well thought out
    By a man in a room with a phone as his mouth
    He reflects on the opportunities that he once had
    To escape from this world before it turned mad
    Abide by madness and hinder it's rules
    With a gun and a chain-saw as it's ominous tools
    A man in one's eyes, but a boy in his own
    When he speaks, he spoke with a trembling tone
    A mindset for murder and a sharp state of mind
    But inside he's begging for his family, one at a time
    To go home and see them, maybe say a word or two
    But by just seeing little Tommy and poor baby Sue
    He's endangering the four that make up his family tree
    But by killing this man, he'll be completely set free
    Two by two, the hit man reloads,
    One gun at his side and two at his toes,
    A rattle rolls out among the various coffins
    Each once was filled with the power to stop him
    The power to pierce and the power to shake
    The power grant and the power to take
    A tiny hand shot out and he popped the power
    Adding another coffin to the raining shower
    Of shells and cases and bodies alike
    His poor baby girl re-straddled her bike
    Like a bullet she was there, and then she was gone
    His cries harmonically mingled with Hell's eloquent song...
    "Welcome to the stocks where nothing is right,
    innocence is said to be dismissed on sight,
    when human eyes conveniently are unable to recall
    the events that damned them, once and for all."