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One, two, Kookaburra’s laughing at you,
Three, four, deep in the asylum’s core,
Five, six, twisted souls in a wicked mix,
Seven, eight, lay the bodies out straight,
Nine, ten, time to drench the walls in red again.
They say I'm crazy, that I belong in this sanctuary of the damned.
But their ignorance is bliss; my soul's whispers scream louder than all the tormented monsters confined within these walls. And I'll make sure I get what I came here for.
Hatchet, Snow, Bones, Ghost, Honeymonster and Nightshade…silly names for silly boys who are now my favourite new toys.
They think they're the apex predators here?
Hilarious, really, but I do love to laugh…especially when it's accompanied by a dying gasp.
Yet, even amid the delicious chaos of killers, something isn't right.
Soft linens and sharp edges; It’s as if they're coaxing the darkness within me to unfurl its wings.
Who gives razor blades to the criminally insane and expects decorum?
The walls are whispering, and the strings pulled behind the curtain are darker than any crime committed within these corridors.
Here, it's kill or be killed, and the real show is about to begin.
And trust me, it won't end until the screams do.
