No Method To His Madness
He's a sick little runt , big man out on the street.
With a gun in his pocket he can withstand all the heat.
He just slithers through the city on a homicidal spree,
Never thinking , never caring who his next victim will be.
With his coal black eyes in motion and his sweaty hands clenched tight ,
He coldly smiles in anticipation of the fun he'll have tonight.
His brain no longer functions, his world has turned insane,
His soul searches for freedom, through others suffering and pain.
He rebels against society, hatred burning deep inside
Towards success and happiness, and the things he's been denied.
He feels he is inadequate , a strange mistake since birth,
With distorted views of reality, he evaluates his worth.
Always struggling to survive, to overcome his endless plight,
He stalks the streets in anger, a creature of the night.
She sleeps down in the subways, there is no other place.
Her years of pain and misery explain her withered face.
As a naive child of fifteen years she left her broken home,
A stranger in a big city, she's hopelessly alone.
In two years she'd been pregnant twice and jailed for prostitution,
Her life a wreck and getting worse, drugs were here one solution.
As a hooker and a junkie, she sadly had no future plans
Her inspiration came from needles, her meals from garbage cans.
She no longer feels emotions, her hear is cold as ice
She is so hungry for love, but it always has its price.
At times she just can't take it, twice attempted suicide
To escape her social prison, but she'll never get outside.
She hates the life she's living, every day is filled with fright
Her prayers will soon be answered, by a stranger in the night.
He's desperate now for action, his patience has worn thin
He prowls with wide eyes glaring, saliva dripping from his chin.
The city is now silent, he can hear his heavy breath
He laughs aloud into the night, he wears the face of Death.
The moon is full, the wind blows strong, it's now his hunting hour
He feels the pistol, cold and hard, his only source of power.
His fingers dance along the barrel, a child with his toy
In using it he hopes that he can finally find some joy.
Obsessed with thoughts of murder, sweat dripping from his hair
He can't wait to pull the trigger, to smell the warm blood in the air.
She leaves the musty subway, her body weak and pale
To get some easy money, she has to make a sale.
She's waiting on a corner, her motives are precise
Men quickly pass her by, her wares aren't worth their price.
Rejected by the masses, she finds herself alone
Her fate has been decided, no time to make atones.
She feels two eyes are watching her from somewhere in the night
She senses an impending doom, she's lost the will to fight.
Would life be better after death? of this she's often wondered
The answer would soon be unveiled, her minutes were now numbered.
He sees a woman all alone, he know she is the one
His body trembles with delight, he reaches for his gun.
He moves in silence towards his prey, no plans will he create
His mind is drunk with murder, his eyes are blind with hate.
She slowly wipes her tired eyes and looks up toward the sky
What sympathy and signs of hope, could any God supply?
Her evil thoughts are rooted deep, her secrets hidden well
She yearns to find her resting place, the fiery depths of Hell.
He points the barrel at her head, his fingers slightly strain
He pumps the trigger several times and rips apart her brain.
Her body hits the city floor, blood rushes from her eyes
The stranger calmly walks away, the sun begins to rise.
* written around 1980/81 as a 16/17 year old kid *
