There's blood on the floor
And gristle on his cleaver
\
Masks in the box at the corner
of the small apartment flat
/
Hidden behind a moto-helm
Driving by fun, of the socio-style
\
Richard, Phil, Charlie, the gang
Over the head, face remains changed
/
Travel through the Phonehom
Slashing through the fleshy barriers
\
Coming on a grisly scene
Awaiting something new to see
/
Quick rap-tapping
Keyboard strokes
\
Pushing through the double doors
This is it folks
For the US, for the US!
The Ruski's will fall
But these two,
At the moment, don't know it
At all
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
There's blood on the floor
And gristle on his cleaver
\
Masks in the box at the corner
of the small apartment flat
/
Hidden behind a moto-helm
Driving by fun, of the socio-style
\
Richard, Phil, Charlie, the gang
Over the head, face remains changed
/
Travel through the Phonehom
Slashing through the fleshy barriers
\
Coming on a grisly scene
Awaiting something new to see
/
Quick rap-tapping
Keyboard strokes
\
Pushing through the double doors
This is it folks
For the US, for the US!
The Ruski's will fall
But these two,
At the moment, don't know it
At all
I just beat Hotline Miami. It was amazing. That being said, I'm not so sure this poem is... Oh well, what's written is written.
