What chance does one have
When they’re born in jail?
She’ll trick
Just a child herself
Tell me, what is it that’s got your attention?
Yes, her neck
Reach out and touch it
Fantasize, child, fantasize…
You dusty old Cemetery worker
Transforming into something…
Strangling for thirty years
Nobody seemed to notice
Ninety three women would die
Ninety three…
John Putignano 