Lyrics

His schizoid personality Fragmented at the age of eight His grandmother brought him to me For treatment, but it was too late For he has tasted blood And his mind- his mind is mud And it's black, oozing mud His cannibalistic urges Originated who knows where I can't make my diagnosis He nauseates me, I don't care For he has made me sick And his mind- his mind is shit And in the black, a wicked wit And if it wasn't illegal I'd cut his throat with a penknife I'd hang his bones in my office If it wasn't immoral For I have tasted blood And my mind...