Ghost of Departure

Within the halls of the infirm
I inject, I slice, I make them squirm
None can reveal
Dressed in white, ushering their poisoned meals

Overdosing
Their grip of life, pragmatically closing
I hold the blade to their mortal coil
And they find sleep in the soil

With syringe in hand
They'll die as planned
Their life I cease
With morbid ease

Sordid addiction
The will to defile
Innate, since birth,
A carcinophile

Untraceable, Intangible

Feeding an infant
With tainted lead
Ejaculate
As the tumor spreads

A lethal dose of insulin
Exposure to fatal pathogens

With syringe in hand
They'll die as planned
Their life I cease
With morbid ease

The sickness, alluring,
The foul stench enduring
The snapping of bones
A delectable tone

Of septic necrosis
And cruel diagnosis
The Ghost Of Departure
Is feeding on their helpless cries

With syringe in hand
They'll die as planned
I deliver the sick,
Now who shall I pick

Incisions cut so deep
I bless them with eternal sleep
And even if I fall
I've honored Him through Infernal Call.