The Pick-Axe Murders

You thought it was over, it's not over I came back, I brought my axe In the shadows, alone in the dark young victims I stalk You thought it was over, it's not over I came back From the grave To mutilate Axed in the back Pick through the neck Dead like the rest Molested and left Limbs split in half I rupture their flesh Puncture wounds To the head Bone fragments clot to the hatchet Knee-deep in the blood of the Dead Cranial separation Sex with her severed head Rotten walking dead Hunting living victims