Beware
the Dog
I'm going to kill someone today, or maybe two or three,
All I know is at the end the dead one won't be me
I'm going to kill someone today, or maybe four or five,
All I know is at the last they will not be alive
I'm going to kill someone today or maybe six or seven,
And at days end I bet that they will not be up in heaven
I'm going to kill someone today, or maybe eight or nine,
Just to clear my calendar or not to hear them whine
I'm going to kill someone today or ten or maybe more
Just to ease my mind a bit, or even up some score
I'm going to kill someone today, then laugh in joy or glee,
Which, depends on who it is, and why they bother me
I'm going to kill someone today, and then I'll go to bed
I'll not regret what I have done or even count the dead
Tomorrow may be better or I may kill some more,
It all depends on how I feel. My tolerance for gore
Will never make me shudder, will never make me quake
This blood is real but looks just like the cinematic fake
I fear not sending anyone to a much better place
Where they're going heat will wipe the smile off their face
Where they're going demons dance and torture is allowed
Where they're going they will join a most unhappy crowd
If by some strange quirk of fate I send someone above
They won't resent it, not a bit, they'll bask there in God's love
I won't commit the perfect crime, no one will really care
If I leave a clue or two, some blood, a bit of hair
They'll catch me soon but I won't mind I'll have had my day
Before they ever come for me, to take me far away
I'm going to kill someone today, and that will make me free
Of every obligation that seems to bother me
I'll step beyond the social pale and break the sacred rule
And at the end I'll have declined to suffer for the fool
I'll have eliminated the ones I like the least
Then maybe at the end of it I'll cook them for a feast
I'll hold a big fundraiser and serve up heel filet
Or maybe finger sandwiches will really come your way
I'll raise funds for the President or maybe Mr. Hob
Who hasn't worked for thirteen years and really needs a job.
It really doesn't matter just what the feast is for
The food will be organic, less would be a bore
I'd like to have it catered but that could cause a fuss
The caterer's my sister and really quite a wuss
I'm going to kill someone today, a dozen would be nice
If I do it well enough, won't have to do it twice
So don't you come to see me or knock upon my door
To talk about your aching back or cuss about the war
Don't offer me a glass of wine when I order salad
Or else your death, may just become, a point of this sad ballad
Don't step upon my rose bush, or crash into my car
You may make another step, or two, it will not get you far
Don't reach across the table and take my salt from me
Unless you really hanker to have your soul set free
I'll kill you very quietly, I don't want to be rude
Any little thing will do when I am in this mood
I may use a gentle poison or maybe laughing gas
I hear that that's an easy way, when you finally pass
In any case this warning sign is really very clear
Beware the troll beware the dog but do not enter here!
