noel411 Collection

[noel411]

Just thought I'd throw a few of my writtens in a thread.

[noel411]

Put the mic in position, strike with precision,
The blade stays sharp for slicing incisions,
A master of arts, a grasper of hearts,
A highly respected caster of darts,
Word travels fast and facts become myths,
Calluses grow on the hands he strums with,
The barriers he builds are only superficial,
The carrier of guilt is in a lonely loop of rituals,
Telltale signs of his work begin to emerge,
Identity stays hidden but is always on the verge-
Of public recognition as missions are effected,
It’s given that witnesses admissions are rejected,
Visions are neglected, decisions have been finalized,
Choose to break communication of the mind and eyes,
And find these lies won’t serve to crush a legend,
The truth can still be heard when nothing’s mentioned,

Is there rust in these joints? This must be the point-
In question when testing the trust we appoint,
Time brings change to your assigned swing range,
My oh my, this rhyme thing’s strange,
The other half is lost with a lack of concentration,
We don’t need a witness to enact the consecration,
Practice sacred arts regardless of surroundings,
Finely tune our weapons and the cases that they’re found in,
It might be sight or sound, but you’ll know when you’re around him,
At night he might be found in the sorrows that you’re drowning,
The impression cast by a true master should be lasting,
We can learn by his actions, even faster could we ask him-
To impart his wisdom and be granted this request,
He may hand you a seed, how it’s planted is the test,
To control the spot the goal is not to be the best,
Whether old or not the soul may rot, even as we rest,

Plan out the yield and stand out in the field,
Don’t be concerned when a man’s doubt’s revealed,
Practice your art to hack this apart,
Don’t be afraid to go back to the start,
One in a million is far from unique,
You stray further away the harder you seek,
Think they praise what you say but they laugh when you speak,
You see what you need but your grasp is too weak,
It’s a process where progress is only achievable,
If you’re clever and endeavour to never believe a fool,
Keep your plans tethered together whether conceivable-
Or not, you’ve got to see, spot and be the rule,
See a jewel for a jewel and a lie for a lie,
See a fool for a fool and the wise for the wise,
It’s a tooth for a tooth and an eye for an eye,
It’s the truth in the booth, it’s the size of the prize,

At the end of the day it depends what we say,
A brew of the truth, or a blend of cliché?
Who rose in the force when imposing a war,
And who was left standing when closing the door?,
The parallels revealed through the hands of a writer,
A carousel of real views planned and deciphered,
One vivid picture that is broken up in quarters,
Its wealth revealed over time like a frozen cup of water,
Outside sources are abandoned as we reach the later stages,
The inner core explored, no more commentator pages,
Written through the hands of those who came before us,
The dictionaries varied but we chose the same thesaurus,
As the path narrows there’s only space for one,
Solitude may be embraced but it’s a lonely chase for some,
The goal for which you strive won’t be presented on a platter,
But once it is achieved it will no longer matter.

[noel411]

Light shines in dark places, words emerge from drains in gutters,
They turn to bats and flutter as the people close their shutters,
A man gets caught and tries to scream but only stutters,
He dies behind a sputter of the cries he tries to utter,
Take a tour through the sewers that run beneath the city,
A shitty fetid wasteland, disgraced and full of pity,
Pools of gritty waste have their place and serve a purpose,
They’re a home to the creatures that lurk beneath the surface,
The lethal teeth of serpents provide a service which is certain-
To assure a dose of hurtin’ before they close the curtains,
Squirtin’ venom from the tips, it drips into the sludge,
And there’s no legislature cause nature is the judge,

An owl sits on its perch by the light of the moon,
A withered tree near a church is where it sits and croons,
There’s a well nearby, this well is near dry,
Through teary eyes a boy stares at the clear sky,
His home is the darkness, the damp and slimy brick,
At night he lays his back on a cramped and grimy slick,
Rat’s claws prick at his skin like a cactus,
Their eyes glow red through the thick of the blackness,
They’ve become his only friends in this glum and lonely den,
Blood drips from his fingers’ raw, numb and boney ends,
As he tries to climb the brick and he finds the grime is thick,
His grip quickly slips, he dies with one final kick,

A submarine lurks in the depths of the ocean,
And there’s no radar that will register its motion,
The occupants all died way back in the seventies,
But remained on the vessel cause they weren’t given heaven’s keys,
Eventually their energies were focused on their enemies,
They were never seen by any team whose vessel would descend the seas,
Struggling mentally their enemies would tend to flee defensively,
You can sense the grief when they speak, remembering these times, pensively,
Hence the brief pause after four more exhausted,
As we remember those who fought in these wars, and those who caused it,
Enforced it, endorsed it, killed and stayed remorseless,
The thoughtless savage forces, slaughtered soldiers and their horses,

Down in the deepest dark depths of the ocean,
An alien community have placed their devotion,
In developing their base and continuing research,
On the inhabitants of earth, avoiding becoming besmirched,
An immense metal dome conceals their activities,
They leave the fortress in saucers and come back with a seized-
Human being, who is then used in their experiments,
They answer many questions but they never give them evidence,
Malevolence is never sensed by those within their presence,
Their benevolence is evident, inherent in their essence,
Their lessons are a blessing to the few they use for testing,
They use these sessions for addressing many interesting questions,
Under brilliant white lights examinations are conducted,
Then structured files and dossiers are punctually constructed,
Which function in conjunction with a confidential covenant,
These instructions come from national and continental governments.

[noel411]

Before you even entered you could sense the hostility,
A drawing force was present and hence the possibility-
Of willingly proceeding was greatly enhanced,
All those who chose to advance were almost entranced,
A path is mostly hidden amongst weeds and bushes,
Only painted in streaks where the moonlight pushes-
Through overhanging branches which twist and intertwine,
And are clouded and shrouded in mist in winter time,
This narrow path ends at a small set of worn stairs,
Which are every bit as shabby as the worn and torn chair-
Which furnishes a balcony that shudders under foot,
With an uncertainty similar to what roaring thunder puts-
In the mind of a child at the height of a storm,
Where both a sense of fascination and fright often form,
A door stands open and reveals a flickering light,
A man might stand in a trance as shadows dance in the night,
As you step inside, on the left is a staircase,
Spotted in blood, and at the foot of which there lays-
A blood doused knife a housewife might use for chopping,
A trail continues to a doorway on the right without stopping,
And follows through a gloomy room, ending at a fireplace,
Where a young man’s body lays with a terrified and tired face,
A sooty fire poker is protruding from his throat,
Blood leaks from his mouth and trickles down to his coat,
The ticking of the heart quickens, stricken by this sickening sight,
Now back to the staircase, passing by the flickering light-
Of a candle on a table sitting to the door’s right,
The flame suspended like a kite, but a little more bright,
Halfway up the stairs the blood trail ceases,
At the top glass is scattered on the floor in pieces,
There’s a cabinet on the wall where the door has been shattered,
And a closet in a bedroom where the door is in tatters,
There’s a shotgun on the floor amongst traces of the door,
And the girl in the corner has no face anymore,
Just a wide, gaping hole that gets lost in the darkness,
A teddy bear glares from the hands of the carcass,
Leaving this room now, there’s light down the hall,
Shadows abound and crawl right around the walls,
At the end there’s a bedroom where a candle is burning,
A bottle of scotch has been emptied before overturning,
Lustful letters of love litter a bed in the corner,
To a woman named ‘Mel’, from a ‘Frederick Warner’,
Now it’s back downstairs and then down another hall,
To the kitchen, where we witness an unfaithful mother’s fall,
A spilled pot is on the floor, the stove is still lighted,
It reveals the peeling face of a woman, which is bright red,
Matching the colours of her naturally white threads,
As blood leaks from multiple stab wounds and spreads,
From the first body another blood trail commences,
Ending at a door, the body tenses as it senses-
The likely possibility of what’s on the other side,
Indeed it leads to a basement, the place where another died,
A lantern stands on a table and enables us to witness-
What became of the final victim of his own hit list,
His body hangs from a rope which scratches at his throat,
Fluids drip from blood soaked patches on his coat,
A shiny puddle forms just below his dangling feet,
And resting next to this is an overturned seat,
Piecing it together, you might start to see the order-
In events that took place in this crooked case of slaughter,
Which saw the demise of mother, father, son and daughter,
Memories can’t be washed away even with a tonne of water,
This all took place many long years passed,
But every time I return it’s the same as the last,
Cause I’m Frederick Warner and I was Mel’s lover,
And the guilt always finds me no matter how well I cover,
I can never escape it, though so many ways I try,
I’ll be trapped in that house until the day I die.

[noel411]

No matter where you’re coming from, life is never easy,
From the seedy camps where the poor and needy refugees be,
To the rich and scenic suburbs where life appears breezy,
Back to the sleazy slums where most incomes are measly,
Disease free streets with people walking bare feet,
To run down neighbourhoods where it is a rare treat,
To share a street with not one single hooker or dealer,
Cause the residents find drugs when they look for a healer,
A tramp sets up camp just below the expansion,
While a million dollar actor paints the walls of his mansion,
In a sporadic pattern of chunky grey and thin red,
After wearing through the final strands of a thin thread,
A wealthy lawyer heads downtown after losing two-
Important cases, thoughts are racing, now he’s choosing to-
Buy some smack of a pusher whose homeless daughter’s using too,
And the thugs are snoozing soundly once the drug abuse is through,
Around me I’m seeing everybody getting by,
It surrounds me, I’m being very dotty letting my-
Mind convince me that they’re all better of than me,
There’s an easy road to peace but nobody’s coffin’s free,
And we often see the outer shell as adequate to function-
As a definitive portrayal for making judgements and assumptions,
There’s a man I know from work, always calm and full of charm,
At night he sits alone with a needle in his arm,
He implements with instruments to bring about self harm,
He wears gloves to cover scars and slashes in his palms,
Alarm bells ring, and they calm hell’s king,
But even he won’t drink the water that this farm’s well brings,
Cause he’s seen the way it tainted us and painted us with greed,
Which leads us to compete for all these things that we don’t need,
And the size of your greed might be the size of your feed,
And the wise and the meek might rise while you bleed,
There’s a time and place for all of us, depends which voice is calling us,
At any rate it may dictate the fate which is befalling us,
And who you choose to hear will reflect your personality,
You can choose to lose your fear in a programmed burst of clarity,
See I’ve had an easy ride through life in many ways,
But you’d find I’m struggling inside on almost any day,
When we say we’re ok, how often is it really true,
Would we change what we say if we knew we were nearly through?

In an attempt to get paid, Paul robbed a liquor store,
Though he drew his gun quick, the attendant had a quicker draw,
William made millions and invested them in stocks,
Now he works ‘round the clock loading ships at the docks,
Jack sold crack, weed and smack, and all the others,
Till he had his eyes gouged out by a customer’s brother,
Bill lived to make a mill, and finally he did,
But during the chase he lost his wife and kid,
Though Marguerite seems sweet, she makes her money on the street,
They found her in a black jeep, murdered on the back seat,
Raquel went through hell before she got her dream promotion,
Then killed herself to finally end the stress and the commotion,
Peter is a wife beater, loves the rush of power,
For roughly half an hour he forgets that he’s a coward,
Earl rapes girls so often now that it’s the norm,
Does it almost daily, only way he can perform,
Susie Porter beats her daughter like it doesn’t even phase her,
Does it out of frustration that she don’t know how to raise her,
Jan will sleep with any man who can maintain an erection,
To combat the disdain and pain of rejection,
Problems find people from all walks of life,
From the rich to the poor, we can all talk of strife,
A lot of us unconsciously contribute to the problems-
Of others tryna live free, and effectively we rob them-
Of their freedom and right to have an equal opportunity,
By hurting them we hurt ourselves, my people stop and you will see,
We feed the same fire that slowly chars our souls,
And the solutions are polluted cause the problems are the goals.

[noel411]

There are certain topics it always seems that I’m assessing,
Control and separation are some themes that I’m addressing,
In the context of religion, in which pigeons are inducted,
They’re set free intermittently and return to be instructed,
Seeking comfort and guidance, they forgo independence,
And hiding doesn’t change what’s inside in the end, hence,
They go through their lives suppressing natural desires,
They hide away doubts to try to stay out of the fires-
Of hell, which they tell you is the final destination,
Of those who chose to oppose God, and test his patience,
They say that God created us in his own image,
But it’s us who have placed him in our own line of scrimmage,
Because we created him in the image of ourselves,
Just take a look at the faker books on our shelves,
Faker than fiction cause they take a depiction,
Which serves not as a breaker but a maker of friction,
Because they tell us what’s before us is unequivocally true,
And any variation should be critically viewed,
The warped divine figures, with our traits created,
If human would be worthy of contempt, pity and hatred,
We took our own faults and flaws and made them God’s attributes,
Suggesting our family tree had been spoiled way back at the roots,
Angry and vengeful, jealous and demanding,
Judgemental and intolerant and rarely understanding,
He threatens you with punishment and harsh consequences,
If you don’t show repentance for your sinful, wrong offences,
He requires that we worship him and flatter him with purity,
As if he needed somebody to calm his insecurities,
That’s the God they gave you, and you swallowed it and still do,
And it’s not too late to save you, but you’ve gotta have the will to-
Admit that something’s wrong, as this earthly war blazes,
Accept that your God is not worthy of your praises,
Why should an omnipotent figure require anything from us?
It’s one thing you know is suss, it’s something you won’t discuss,
Just trust your religions which have failed us through the centuries,
I know it’s hard to adjust but you must let go eventually,
Religion brings division, competition and control,
Now envision a decision for revision of our old-
Principals and practices, teachings and beliefs,
Abandon what has failed us and start preaching ‘bout the chief-
Flaws in understanding which impede world peace and unity,
But that’s not reality, never was and isn’t soon to be,
Because you and me belong to an obdurate race of beings,
And thinking will always outweigh hearing and seeing,
We sleep in a prison but we keep tradition strong,
We’d rather stay behind bars than admit that we were wrong,
And while opposing faiths try to claim their domination,
Within religions there are sects and denominations,
Each one claims superiority over all the others,
Blind to the fact they’re as absurd as one another,
Why do we cater to this nature of separation,
When it breeds conflict and non-descript acts of trepidation?
And war and terrorism are the least of our concerns,
Because humanity will burn until everybody learns,
That no man on earth, from the past through to the present,
From preacher to prophet, from murderer to peasant,
Can assume to know any more than you about such things-
As God and the afterlife and what your death will bring,
The worst mistake humans made was to let it ring true,
That there exists a God who requires anything from you,
We live in unfounded guilt and fear, for acting out desires,
Feel inadequate ‘cause we can’t obey the rules like God requires,
And this false sense of morality’s gone beyond religious culture,
It preys on the population like an insatiable vulture,
From the moment that you’re born they teach you ‘bout their right and wrong,
And there’s no way but to obey them so one day you might belong,
But right and wrong are concepts which are relative, so really,
It’s ideally up to you to define their meaning clearly,
Our whole moral system is derived from our religions,
It affects how governments and courts, even parents, make decisions,
And religions take morality so far beyond absurd,
They dictate how you ought to eat and dress and not say certain words,
You’ve got women who wear veils that cover every inch of flesh,
Some even hide their eyes behind a fine kind of mesh,
Pray to their God five times a day to satisfy his ego,
We see these practices enacted this often now that we show-
No appreciation for how ludicrous this is,
What kind of a messiah would require that we kiss his-
Arse repeatedly, and also ask that we agree-
To follow certain rules and carry out the tasks that he-
Sets as a test of our faith and dedication,
And these dangerous moral principals have even led our nations,
Why can’t we see? our belief systems are the source of most our problems,
Why aren’t we free? ‘cause these systems take our minds and rob them,
Of the freedom to operate independent of suggested-
Adoptive principals with which it constantly is tested,
If I could go back in time, here’s what I’d do for closure,
I’d cut off the hands of Moses before he can compose the-
Ten commandments, or any other of his quotes,
Then I’d cut Muhammad’s throat well before he ever wrote-
The quran, and darn I don’t know about the bible,
Updated and revised so many times, don’t know who’s liable,
King James, Constantine or Shakespeare, it doesn’t matter,
Rival religions like to raise this point, it’s all just pointless natter,
Because the history of the book really isn’t all that relevant,
Let’s talk of it’s benevolence, even moreso it’s malevolence,
It’s what’s in the book that matters, and not where it came from,
And the contents of these books have done more harm than an A-bomb,
But Christianity’s the faith that really saves and frees us,
‘Cause we can do as we please and then put it all on Jesus,
And don’t assume that I’m an atheist because of what I’m saying,
Atheism’s like religion, just without worship and praying,
‘Cause it also makes assumptions about things that we can’t know,
And pretends that things that are unknowable aren’t so,
Just like religion, now please understand,
Spirituality and religion don’t go hand in hand,
Religion is an industry, a system of control,
Spirituality is the bond between God and the soul,
The concept of God did not originate in scriptures,
They just abused it and distorted it and painted hateful pictures,
So if you wanna question God, don’t ask the minister for help,
Just look into the mirror and ask him for yourself.

[noel411]

He’s miserable and glum and invisible to some,
His skin is cool and numb, swimming in a pool of scum,
The hate starts to rise from where his heart lies,
The contempt in his eyes is no longer disguised,
But he never holds a gaze long enough to burn a hole-
In the soul of another as he struggles for control,
In his tension he senses the judging minds of others,
He’s smothered in a bind and can’t find his mother,

If he takes you on a tour through the depths of his mind,
You might be surprised when observing what you find,
You abuse the gift of sight by acting like you’re blind,
That’s the very reason why he shies away from your kind,
Frustrated by observations of human behaviour,
If he could articulate his thoughts he’d be the new saviour,
He believes he holds the keys to a deeper understanding,
He just can’t find the words to make people understand him,

Often he wonders exactly when things turned,
He was once flying high but then his wings burned,
He forever yearns to return to that past glory,
But is stern that he can’t turn the course of his story,
It seems strange and deranged that although he dreams of change,
The plans he makes to break free will never be arranged,
He’s lost his motivation and his self belief,
The self deprecation robbed him like a thief,

He believes he knows himself inside and out,
But perceives that some things leave him in doubt,
Like why he’s so critical of those he cares about the most,
How he’ll shrug them off and ignore them like they’re ghosts,
How he won’t get close to almost anyone he knows,
How he’ll sow a seed of hate and watch it slowly grow,
All the while longing for the comfort of friendship,
As his pen drips from a tense grip, the end slips,

A man of infinite potential and limited credentials,
At times his anger is torrential, sometimes inhibited and gentle,
So many years of apathy, he’s now sedate and numb too,
So many fears, a trap that he’s created and succumbed to,
The years pass by and his peers ask why-
Won’t he let the past die and give it one last try?
And he tells himself the same, but it doesn’t help him change,
You can see him through the flames as they move into his range,

He sees a rich and boastful man, contempt and hate rises,
It’s the struggling down and outers with whom he sympathises,
He’d just as soon kill a man, stand and curse his mother,
As he’d reach out a helping hand and try to guide another,
He might be your brother, the guy who reads the nightly news,
He might be your friend, he might be me, he might be you,
There’s feelings we can’t help revealing, this is a rule,
But others stay hidden deep inside…invisible.

[noel411]

A Passionate artist pours his thoughts on a wall,
Sure before the wall is painted over or falls,
No more than a small handful of passers-by,
Will register his work on any level past their eyes,
Ask him why his capacity for self progression-
Is exhausted on his art rather than his profession,
His answer likely will exemplify artistic expression,

What’s the definition of a real MC?
According to Einstein it’s the square root of E,
Cause if E equals MC squared it must be,
That the square root of E then equals MC,
Empty inside, can’t tempt me with bribes,
Cause the entry is wide for plenty of scribes,
Who went three to five, then sent free their pride,
Consequently they thrived, then spent G’s and died,
And this suspicious business is a vicious cycle,
MC’s live ficticious lives behind the mic like George Michael,
Forged styles rule the industry, while fools spin these sinfully,
Push the boundaries of infinity in a vicinity within a week,
Skinning me alive as I’m striving for composure,
I’d turn to burning bridges if there’s no alternative for closure,
If integrity is something you can’t learn to give, it’s over,

A passionate rapper pours his thoughts on a track,
Knowing just as sure as a saw’s gonna hack,
That no more than a small handful of individuals,
Will ever hear the track, much less register the hidden jewels,
But he still puts in hours, meticulously crafting-
His darts cause in his heart his art is everlasting,

"A covering or cover" defines the word (w)rapper,
How much do you tailor what swims out your snapper?
Is rapping just a disguise for what lies inside?
Behind your thin pride, might find your skin hides-
A boring twin side which died in the spotlight,
Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m not right,
And what might be unsightly still clears the shelves at light speed,
And the heights we’ve reached for will breach your drive to fight greed,
Our sight needs to be focused on things that have broke us,
Cause the future looks hopeless in the wings of these locusts,
Only few who make a lonely break will keep away,
Rejoin the group to swoop foundations other people layed,
Not knowing that the hollow benefits they reap’ll fade,
In a pool of the same, it’s a school full of shame,
The rules of the game are to pull fools by chains,
And I’m guilty of swarming, and it fills me with mourning,
My skills need re-forming, and I will heed the warning,
Though in this case it’s too late, a new fate may await me,
But lately I’ve just felt too lazy to break free.

[noel411]

The dark recess of his mind, not exposed to those outside,
He appears to be together, but down below the doubt hides,
Without pride he is nothing so he searches for success,
Yearns to be the best but is hurting from the stress,
It alerts him to the mess that was his troubled early years,
An unfortunate fate would create a world he fears,
He just wanted to fit in with the rich and prestigious,
But felt he was an outcast like a witch or a midget,
Though he’d talk cocky and gloat, he walked a rocky road,
His true emotions were something that he rarely showed,
So much built up tension he was scared he’d explode,
But this decay stayed at bay and was barely exposed,
He rose in status in the professional world,
Found himself a beautiful and respectable girl,
He knows it matters to her that he tries hard,
But deep down his wealth is a lie, a façade,
He tries his best to impress her but still feels inferior,
He’s like a shiny new Porsche with a battered interior,
Unable to focus, his career starts to slip,
At last his girl parts with his heart in a grip,
Now an abundance of disappearing cases occur,
The names are all female, and they all look like her,
Excercising power and control to cure his chagrin,
Using manipulative techniques to lure a catch in,
Few could compare to his guile, and fewer could match him,
He mapped out traps for the girls he was snatching,
He’d wear a plaster cast and ask for assistance,
To carry books to his car, parked not a far distance-
Away, he’d say and they displayed little resistance,
He practiced this tactic in more than one instance,
Remains were eventually found in the form of scattered bones,
The most notable of which were some worn and battered domes,
The zone full of bones, torn, shattered and thrown,
Rookie cops were warned to leave the matter alone,
Cause even vets were left with more questions than answers,
And the best had stress that festered like cancer,
The chance to bring the man to justice finally came late-
One night when they pulled over car with the same traits,
As the one described by many young ladies,
Who had been approached by a man in a cast who seemed shady,
The officer removed what he described as a “rape kit”-
From the car, put it into a bag and then taped it,
The kit included a balaclava and handcuffs,
As evidence in court items likely to stand up,
The case built against him was to demand tough-
Defense, and he’s tense cause he’s sensed that the can’s rough,
Only he’s man enough to handle the case,
His complacency shows when he stands in the place,
Of his own defense, representing himself,
With access to the books on the law library’s shelves,
The case was based on the testimony of one-
Girl who had escaped a murder/rape and then run,
He’s convicted but only for kidnap and assault,
And continues studying texts from the library vault,
While sentencing is temporarily brought to a halt,
He’s doing more than just learning, and when this is clear,
He jumps from a window and then disappears,
But his ankle's hurt in the fall so he never strolls far,
And is picked up as the driver of an out of control car,
His cold heart so fatigued he gives very little fight,
And in his new cell he lives with very little light,
But he still sits at night writing letters to his army-
Of fans, who stand by his side denying calmly,
That this man could plan or conspire to harm me,
They see him above them, looking down as his palms bleed,
The light in his room was dim for a reason,
You might think this gloom was to simply displease him,
The fixture was damaged and they were delaying repairs,
And left a metal plate which slowly he tears,
From the ceiling revealing a narrow escape route,
People joking about how he’ll soon get the cape out,
Compared to Houdini, this time he’s able to get far,
This carefully planned new scheme has enabled a head start,
The form left under the sheets of his bed sparks-
Little suspicion, so that night his cell is left dark,
They find out the next day, but by then it’s too late,
Cause he’s well on his way, and he’s crossed many states,
But soon the old urges come back to haunt him,
And this is where the story becomes the most daunting,
Taunting the cops with unspeakable acts,
Unable to stop his most lethal attack,
Creeps through the back door of a boarding house,
As quiet and discreet on his feet as a mouse,
A piece of firewood was his weapon that night,
So quiet the girls couldn’t put up a fight,
Clubbed them right on the head while they still slept,
When he left, two dead was the tally he kept,
Crept out the front door as a girl entered the rear,
Stepped in the shadows and remained centered with fear,
When the cops arrive it’s five hysterical girls who greet them,
Inside they find two girls dead and two beaten,
Weakened by the sight, but the night’s only just started,
Cause the lust had not been hushed when he parted,
To crush that lust is a must for the heartless,
They’ll trust their gut till they’ve had enough, regardless,
He needs to flush that lust right out of his system,
So he finds another house with more potential victims,
He's in a rush so he hasn't got much time to pick them,
And no time for the fancy schemes he used to trick them,
Spots a girl through a window who doesn't know doom awaits,
And proceeds to bludgeon, with blows to the face,
But all of this commotion arose her room mates,
Who called the cops who arrived not a moment too late,
Though at first glance they can't believe she'd survived,
They're soon surprised to find her breathing and alive,
The perpetrator steals a van from nearby,
Which he uses to commit his last severe crime,
He steers by a school with drool on his lips,
Spots a kid who resists, so he pulls on her hips,
To drag her inside the high and wide vehicle,
Her cries dry and fearful, her eyes wide and tearful,
She’d be his youngest known victim, and also his final,
The van was abandoned with blood on the vinyl,
And replaced with a Beetle with shiny black seats,
Which a cop spots crawling along the back streets,
It provokes his suspicion, so he calls it in,
And meanwhile pulls the man over, stalling him,
The results come back, the car was recently reported-
Stolen, but the initial arrest attempt is thwarted,
When he shakes the Jake and makes a break while being escorted-
To the back seat of the patrol car, the cop fires shots in the air,
The assailant promptly stops, and drops right there,
But when the cop tries to cuff him, another fight flares,
The nightmare finally over when the stunned cop prevails,
The assailant wishing he was dead as another scheme fails,
They’re not sure who’ve they’ve caught as he’s brought to the jail,
And are shocked when they finally learn all the details,
He fails to make a confession in that questioning session,
Gives vague answers to keep them guessing and test them,
He rejected numerous public defendants,
So again on him his defense was dependent,
If convicted it was likely that death was the sentence,
He committed his crimes in a state which supports the-
Death penalty, and so the hordes thought he-
Must wanna die, and would fry accordingly,
In this trial there was a pile of evidence,
Though the defendant stays calm and is almost never tense,
The most important exhibit came from a dental surgeon,
In the form of X-ray and photo and the way that they merged in-
When layed on top of one another, you could see a clear blend,
The photo showed bite marks on a victim’s rear end,
The dental scan was of the defendant, now down in the stands,
There is commotion as they disclose what was found in the van.
In the back there was dirt which had traces of blood,
Also red clothing fibers were placed in the mud,
Which matched a garment his last victim was wearing,
On the day she died, it was clear when comparing,
The blood types matched both defendant and victim,
There was now enough evidence to get a conviction,
The jury returned with the verdict, ordering death,
The defendant showed no distress, no shortage of breath,
An execution date was set, but repeatedly delayed,
Appeals were launched but denied, no matter what he’d say,
He was staunch and he tried, but the judge could not be swayed,
He was at peace with his priest, found release when he prayed,
The days turned to months and he finally came to grips,
With the fact they’ve got him trapped and they’re not gonna flip,
At last he starts confessing, speaking with deep hurt,
Begging they preserve him for psychological research,
He turns to desperation as death is closing in,
Finally accepting the reality that death has chosen him,
Blaming pornography, and violent forms of entertainment-
For his violent sexual slayings, was simply so the blame went-
To sources other than himself, never losing his pride,
Concealing his true feelings and choosing to hide,
When the day came for his meeting with the chair,
It revealed his fear of dying, he was crying with despair,
He sent love to his family while the frying was prepared,
By an executioner whose mask was hiding tied up hair,
Which when released would reach at least to her shoulders,
It was a woman at the switch holding it as controller,
Volts whipped through his body as she lowered the switch,
Avenging the deaths of all the girls he had murdered and ditched,
In parks and rivers, some never to be found,
Their carcasses hidden, some buried underground,
The few who had died in their homes, received proper farewells,
Those who were slayed so sadistically, he never dared tell-
The location of the bodies, now probably so decomposed,
That the horrors they endured remain something only he knows,
That he will take to his grave or maybe burn with his body,
This song speaks of a release that turned to a hobby,
And the biggest tragedy is that this story is true,
And though it doesn’t involve me, and nor does it you,
We’re all victims of a flawed and misguided society,
But this depiction is more than you allow your eyes to see.

[Drunken Monk]

pretty
major props on it