The DeZalze Horror

Four bodies, axe wounds to the neck and head Writhing around in throes of death One small child survives But death shrouds her mind His eyes burnt cold, no remorse Calmly the poison dripped from his lips Stripping all honour from his bones Covering his soul in putrid shame Hacking the ones I love to death Is not something I'll regret I will live this lie till I die No one will ever see the horror lurking inside The faceless laughing figure, the convenient myth The blood still drips from the axe's tip