| Awaiting your sentence
|
| Locked up in your hell
|
| Your crime will now be tested
|
| By the jury representing Death
|
| Bitterness inside you
|
| All you feel is hate
|
| Not for the vicious crime
|
| But for the victims you kept alive
|
| Incision, precision, remove the limps
|
| The pulse beats on, the body won’t turn cold
|
| I stab, I drill, my intention’s clear
|
| My hands they squeeze, but the bastard won’t die
|
| Hang him high
|
| No remorse for the crimes you’ve done
|
| Hang him high
|
| Blood on your hands won’t wash away
|
| Waiting on deathrow
|
| Staring at the walls
|
| The cell is closing up on me
|
| Memories I can’t defeat
|
| I stab, I drill, my intention’s clear
|
| My hands they squeeze, but the bastard won’t die
|
| Hang him high
|
| No remorse for the crimes you’ve done
|
| Hang him high
|
| Blood on your hands won’t wash away
|
| A scarred and abused soul
|
| Tries to cope with life
|
| Hiding in your twisted game
|
| He was dead before he started to feel alive
|
| Now justice will take its toll
|
| Hang him high
|
| No remorse for the crimes you’ve done
|
| Hang him high
|
| Blood on your hands won’t wash away |