In little Timmy's happy place,
he's making his plans,
to kill all of us.
He wants to be the last man alive.
He has lots of guns,
to make holes in your head,
and laughs when your brain leaks out.
Making us dead is his desire.
Carnage gives him a boner.
He baths in blood.
He likes to eat the flesh of man.
The women he loves they are all dead.
He wants to bring HELL on earth,
death is his master.
He follows his calling,
to bring misery.
Visions of massacre dance in his dreams,
machete hacking into flesh,
hammers bashing skulls,
are visions of joy for little Timmy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem