And as the blood trails down the sink you catch a glimpse
but it's surreal, you're not who you think, feel so detached
just to your left, there in the tub, lays your helpless victim
and as you scrub, all went to plan, although something's missing
because there was no, no relief, no release, it's not what you hoped it would be
dissatisfaction's fires reign, and the hunt starts again
through all these years, the plan's evolved, to the point of perfection
so why the lack, why no resolve, why no sense of closure
the perfect victim, it's what you had and more than once before
so what went wrong, what flaws the scheme, why are the fires raging on
you know there's a hatred, that you've tucked away in the blackest annals of your heart
and you feel the compulsion, no it's more than that, like the very threat of consumption
deny all that's rational, chase satisfaction, make violence and hatred the master
and each drop of blood, each vessel you drain still won't let you turn the key
you kill again without remorse, yet the demons still come screaming
each sacrifice is closer to your supposed perfect ending
but in the end, all that is real is the blood on your hands
until you're caught or until you're dead, the hunt demands your tending