Perpetrators of Tragedies

Oh, what do you achieve 

Oh great crusaders of misery and carnage

It is in this way that you either see nothing

Or the same walls and bars for the rest of your life

Notoriety is nothing

Even the evil organizations of criminal activity have had higher standards than you

You stand for nothing, make no statements

I would call you all illogical

But most of you are smart

In this drive of hatred and delight in causing suffering and pain

What is it you hope to achieve

An inner satisfaction to see what its like?

Is the experiment worth the risk

You only have a few sorry supporters

Only a few little boys who follow you around

Is it because of being pushed to far

Well sorry to tell you your still being pushed

By giving in to this sickness you let them win

Did romance never flock your way?

Well it'll never be so now

If you want to cause this pain and you want to end your own

There are plenty of evil men out there

Men with equally devious plans as your own

Or combat zones where the targets shoot back

Have your cake and be dead too

I guess I don't need to understand

I'm not you, you are not me

But you are not in a phase

You are not misunderstood

You are sick

Sick with morbid curiosity

Sick with the belief that you are important somehow

For what purpose

For what rhyme

Except to exercise your own sick urges

Its appalling, but that's what you want isn't it.

You want us all to acknowledge you

You want your picture posted on the papers,

To appear on all the newscasts

To become a legend of notoriety

Its probably our fault for letting this happen

Letting our media shine spotlights to understand your fucking sickness

There is no understanding it

There is no deeper meaning

Unless a tumor is eating your brain, 

Or pushing on places it shouldn't,

And you can't control the voices,

You never had to do this,

You never have to do this,

Its bullshit and you know it.

In the end you are a thief, 

A robber,

You had a high count of victims,

There is no bonus round

There is no parade,

In your own private places you will suffer alone,

And if the devil is there you'll suffer the worst,

If not,

Then what was the point,

Your mothers should have aborted you.