Thy art is murder
One, two, three, four,
I see beauty in the gore.
Gorgeous art born from war,
oh dead bodies galore.
Corpses I particularly adore,
a nature morte in it´s core.
If you want more then please explore
whats behind my basement door.
A stilleben made hardcore,
laying down on the cellar floor.
A dead whore, for my encore,
her final pose fits perfectly with the decor.
The body captures her last implore,
you can see the mercy she so begged for,
and almost hear her desperate roar.
My magnum opus I named "Muerte del amour".
This femme fatale is so much more
irresistible now then before.
The allure of death is so hard to ignore,
my work is an exhibition, a morbid metaphor.
The fact that art doesn't work without pain
art exists for compensating pain
My art is pure by not being alive anymore,
they always cry so loud that my ears get soar.
By killing them our shared pain is no more,
when silence grow pain fades away,
emotion felt nevermore.