Mel. Puszta-Fox; translation: Taneli Härmä
Every night a madman finds an axe to bear he leads me there behind the shed, where the skull cracks open like a boiled egg and crimson gore will flow from veins. ;: Striking my neck his mind has no doubt. (Ha, ha) Spurting out, blood makes a nasty sound. (Splurt) Though my conscience long since faded, madman remains concentrated. Swings away as I am drying out. :;