The Black Dahlia Murder - In Hell Is Where She Waits for Me

[Spoken intro]

1. The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
2. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters.
3. He restoreth my soul; He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake.
4. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me.

— Psalm 23 (King James Version)


I watch the bitter tears slalom down grief-stricken faces
For a moments time I feel I am the god of which they speak
Under the guise of anonymity, I masquerade in thrilling mockery
Erection juts begrudgingly from 'twixt my silken Sunday pleats

The coffin is sealed, face to go unrevealed
But I dare know what lies underneath—
Two bloodless halves of a dark flower, dead
Whose dream turned the nightmare that dwells beneath our darkened beds

How pathetically I broke her like a doll of porcelain
I found her primed for a raping that could never be
In wanton fallacy the temptress played; deceiving, taunting charming fools like me
Her silhouette, an hourglass whose sands of time would empty fast

“A rose must remain with the sun and the rain
Or its lovely promise won’t come true...”
They call me the nightfall, the colder than death
A winter unending that’s stolen her breath

Dead and famous— at last she’s made it
Her mangled face— haunting, shameless
The death of peace— endarkened times
Crowned an immortal, yet stricken of life

The headlines read: “YOUNG STARLET— DEAD!"
Drained of her lifesblood and nourished with shit
Sodomized, defeminized
Silent, the victor— vengeance is mine

In hell...
In hate...

In hell is where she waits for me
Seductress burns in sin
The succubus, deceased

The funeral has ceased, you can all rest at ease
My desire be not to kill again
I’ll now disappear, leaving legend to fear
So lock every door tight from now until eternity

Dead and famous— at last, she’s made it
Her mangled face— smiling, shameless
The death of peace— endarkened times
Crowned an immortal, yet stricken of life

The headlines read: “YOUNG STARLET— DEAD!”
Drained of her lifesblood and nourished with shit
Sodomized, defeminized
I am the victor— vengeance is mine

I watched the bitter tears slalom down grief-stricken faces
For a moments time I feel I am the god of which they speak
I, the misogynist
Her crooked smile, my seal of hatred
Incarnate of the beast—
The god of which they speak