Lurking in the shadows of the sun
no need to hide when you have such pride
as to reveal the deeds you've done
prison bars and needles 
cannot stop a quill and ink of blood
nor hold back an imagination
as twisted as his own
blade in hand he then began
his torture and his fun
unrestrained by conscience
by morals or by law
deaths of innocent beauty
his craving and his want
chains and stains and torn wings
pretty white dresses soaked in red
like butterflies pinned and labeled on the wall
broken souls will turn to ash
but only feed his flame.