The Pick-Axe Murders

You thought it was over, it's not over
I came 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 came 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