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about this song
Awaiting your sentence Locked up in you hell Your crime will now be tested By the jusry representing death Bitterness inside you All you feel is hate Not for the vicious crime But for the victims you kept alive Incision, precision, remove the limps The pulse beats on, the body won't turn cold I stab, I drill, my intension's clear My hands they squeeze, but the bastard won't die Hang him high No remorse for the crimes you've done Hang him high Blood on your hands won't wash away