Death Waltz

There’s blood on our bed, baby,
Writings on the walls,
And a fever setting in my bones,
And whispers in the halls.
There’s hair on the ceiling,
Fingernails in the floor,
Cause we butchered our enemies,
As they stepped through the door.
I hear them mothers screaming,
Children running for the hills,
Cause we loadin' up our weapons,
And we’re out for the kill.
Wrap your arms around my neck.
Pierce my eyes, my soul you’ll take.
Woman.