You're bound of all your senses,
Your to afraid to walk,
Although it seems painless,
Its worse of what you could talk.
You lose all confidence,
There's nothing you could do,
Except to escape the wrath,
That the fear has put in you.
You feel like something is looking straight at your back,
You feel like it's the end of your miserable life,
But there's one question that haunts your fact,
WHO KISSED THE BUTCHERS WIFE?
