Mistweaver

I put the 9mm glock to your head
and gently squeese the trigger
blowing out your [fucking] brains
on the wall in all kind of crazy figures

So what are you gonna do now
you piece of shit
(you're such a?)
how (fucking) stupid can a man be
you've should have known better

Weaving my world
from the cord of your soul
as I slowly fuck
the bullet exit hole
through the funeral mist
I drag you to my temple
dead yet so alive
living in my dreams

Nothing brings me greater joy
than the memory of when I
wiped that smile from your lips
the look of horror in your eyes
as I pulled out a gun
and pointed it at your [fucking] face