There’s blood on his hands
Not that anyone can see
It’s the blood of the innocent
More blood than he could foresee

It’s been years and years
Of fighting and killing
Evil monsters and demons
To **** them, he’s more willing

His hands hold the weapons
With a strong and firm grip
He can slice off a head
Into evil he’ll empty a clip

His hands are calloused
From digging grave after grave
He’ll shake others’ hands
They’re soft, it’s what he craves