A Massacre for the Papers

He leads you in without a sound
But it's the silence that scares you
And now he's all wrapped around you
His pulse pressed to the back of your head

The heartbeat
The pale skin
The air is thin
The panic aching in your bones
The lights are dim
This is the fuck of the century
And you will just smile so happily

So rent that hotel room
Rip off that dirty blouse
Let him inside you
And when you pull his strings he will pull his gun
Right to your fucking head

And with your blood he writes down
All his sins on the walls closing in
I smell murder on these sheets

You see people in dark costumes
And you beg for god to bring good fortune
Because this world has buried our souls

This is the fuck of the century
And you will just smile so happily

Alarms from parked cars on your street
I smell murder
Your workforce
Your good life

I smell murder this very day
This is the fuck of the century