Bleeders

Dear Mr. Coleman I hope your fingers rot

I pray that you will be the last of your kind

This is a warning to you, hell will seem like a ride

compared to what awaits for you

That evil look you gave her, that contradicting smile

Those goosebumps swell with your perversion

He whispers "I will kill you"

The sweat drops from his brow

He knows he'll have to face her father

Your old wrinkled hands and those pebbles for teeth

I hope you had a good life, now put your hands to your knees

With the TV so loud, all the neighbors will hear

is a re-run from Seinfeld and they'll cover their ears

They will never speak your name, they will never hear your name

Dear Mr. Coleman I hope your fingers rot

I pray that you will be the last of your kind

That evil look you gave her, that contradicting smile

Those goosebumps swell with your perversion