The Art Of Lunacy

Works of Art by flesh and blood
Pictures sculptures made of corpses
The more beautyfull they are the more painfull was their dead
I made them by myself, I killed them with my hands

This must be the work of a genious they say
When they visit my little gallery
Big satisfied eyes they can´t get enough
The don´t realize that they´re watching death

A mother buyed a statue of bones
For the grave of her murdered son
His screams were so loud as I skinned him alive
Now this statue makes her smile

They praise me they love me they give me all
Trust and honour a piece of their soul
I am whatever they want me to be
But I hide a cruel secret their eyes never see

Alone I walk through the hall of all lies
Speaking and thinking bout what I´ve created
Is it me who speaks is it me who thinks
Or one of those creatures they´ll soon be my end