| See the child, pentagram in hand
|
| There’s nothing that can stop him
|
| Psychopathic mind, misdirected wrath
|
| Towards all who dwell around him
|
| But they’ll blame it on us
|
| And our music
|
| Throats and faces slashed
|
| The raping it would last
|
| Into victims, dying
|
| He broke into their room
|
| Sense impending doom
|
| Suspended animation
|
| Enjoying the pain
|
| Of his victims
|
| Oh, Nightstalker looms
|
| Inside of drugs
|
| Nightstalker, Nightstalker
|
| You’ll blame it on song
|
| But you are wrong
|
| Nightstalker, Nightstalker
|
| What you don’t understand
|
| And you can’t comprehend
|
| Don’t you try to explain it
|
| Until you live alone
|
| And feel the coldness roam
|
| Throughout your hollow soul
|
| Still you’ll blame it on us
|
| And our music
|
| The night convicts you once more
|
| Like a bed traps a whore
|
| There’s no escaping black instinct
|
| You’ve damned the innocent to blame
|
| Inflicting on us false shame
|
| Salem’s children close to the link
|
| So take a look at yourself
|
| And worry 'bout no one else
|
| Take a look all around you
|
| Maybe someone you know
|
| Will need for you to show
|
| How it is that you found it |