6 acessos
My chainsaw needs blood.
Almost alone it will look for,
White bones and soft meat.
Lots of blood it will spread out.
Smell of fuel in the air.
Black smoke. Steel burning.
Too hot, sharpened blades,
Reverse the time to cut.
The night is short... And if it's alive,
The machine wants to kill!!
Screams of terror, motor,
Steel against steel tearing the air...
And everything more he can find.
This is the sound of pain!
In a distant place,
a big closed door, no problem to enter.
Noise awake who thought that was safe.
The night is short... And if it's alive,
The machine wants to kill!!
It quickly burns the fuel,
Spread smoke, and blood in the air...
It tries to smash and shatter alone.
The machine looks for the death.
Without anyone more to kill,
There's nothing more to cut,
There's no smoke, or sound.
Satisfied, it'll look for a new place