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 ruptured their flesh Puncture wounds to the head Bone fragments clot to the hatchet Knee-deep in the blood of the dead Cranial separation s*x with her severed head Rotten walking dead Hunting living victims