With My Hammer And My Sickle Poem by Immer DasSchlechte

mit meinem Hammer und meiner Sichel.

With my hammer and my sickle,
many I have killed.
When it comes to death I'm fickle,
I do it for the thrill.
Splatters of blood upon my face,
from every blow thats dealt.
Gives feelings that words cannot replace,
from all the joy thats felt.
From the moment of the first one,
I have to carry on.
And pound or slice with rhythmic beat,
until their blood is gone.
Dripping on the floor,
to quench the thirsty ground.
I feed the demons underneath,
while screaming out the sounds.
Of laughter that has filled my soul,
and brought about a calm.
With my hammer and my sickel,
I kill and carry on...