Made To Kill Poem by Immer DasSchlechte

Gebildet, um zu toten

My mind is such a wicked place,
the evils in my head.
Seems it wont be satisfied,
till all of flesh is dead.
Strike a kill and move around,
victims left from town to town.
Never will they hunt me down,
for they cant catch a shadow.
Peaceful on the outs it seems,
a pleasant man with not a scheme.
No one thinks a different thought,
till given to my wicked.
Killing brings to me a joy,
a beating within laughter.
Chilling skin I'm needing more,
my heart it does beat faster.
I can feel the weight thats lost,
lying in my hands,
As the souls does leave the flesh,
I see it in transcend.
Never will I get enough,
never can I fill.
Some men are made to multiply,
this man is made to kill.