Time is stretched out on a table.
He is bound by his feet and his hands.
No more am I under his power,
Now I will make all the demands.

I pick up the knife and then raise it,
Set to come down and finish the deed.
Yes it's murder, but it's for my future.
And I'll take only that which I need.

Knife straight down, straight to work, straight to slicing;
An eyeball, a fingertip there.
I remove a hand, foot, and an earlobe,
And blood rushes from every flesh tear.

The gag in his mouth makes him silent,
Made of paper that's wrinkled and green,
So that I can keep cutting and carving
The most hideous thing I have seen.