Sick Man - Twiztid, Blaze Ya Dead Homie

Cover my eyes with the cloak of night

Till the darkness and shadows consume everything in sight

Mute my voice from the screams of pain

In blood curdling terror till my words fade away

Bond my wrist with a spool of twine

Collect me and keep me safe and confined

Cover my head with a burlap sack

I can hear where I’m going but never find my way back

Dig me a hole with the shovel of death

And kick me done deep and take my last breath

Dead or unconscious assuming I passed

Awaiting to separate from my spirit and cross paths

Leave me to decompose my body petrifies

My corpse becomes skeletal insects and flies

Feeding on me and eating my body

And they think I’m still missing but the sick man got me

Hes got his eye on you.

Sick man

He’s in love with your death

Sick man

Your never safe cause hes out there

Sick man

Now your the victim in his gaze

There are no rules we don’t play fair

Sick man

I’m tied up

Dried blood covers my eyes

What have I got myself into tonight

I’m alone in a room and I’m feeling like I might

Just become somebody’s victim the lights

Keep flickering off an on and I’m trippin

I can’t believe I got myself in this position

Somebody’s coming I can hear them unlocking the dead bolt

It must be dawn and I all I can hear the threshold

Is knocking the floor and I can hear him getting closer

And I’m trying to ignore

The best hope is a joke

And I don’t think that it is though

It’s been about a week I’ve been down here In limbo

And every time I speak I get stabbed with utensils

So I do my best to keep my motherfucking lips closed

All along I’ve been caught by a skitzo

It so out of the ordinary to live though

Put the lotion on my skin do it when I’m told

Been locked inside the hole so long my beards full grown

Mental pain and chains that restrain and maintain

Make it cause real change in the brain it’s insane

How I pray every day to be free and never be

I can see myself giving up in his reality

Will it ever end?

Will I see my family and friends?

God take me out the clutches the one they call the sick man

Others he has captured not to long after their dead

If they could comprehend that he is master

Keeps the head as trophies cooks the rest neck to toe

Feeds it to me every night nothing left but bones

He bathes in the blood of the dead when he is well fed

He has conversations with the voices in his head.

I pray for my death hope it’s quick an painless

Only then would I be free as one of the nameless