deep green forest lit by the faraway sun
leaves crunch under his step, echoing the blast of a gun
her dirtyblonde hair tainted crimson red
some things are better left unsaid
they say fetch the profiler whose sanity is challenged
maybe he’ll notice the parts that were salvaged
look at the ritual, the signature, the crime
what is the significance, what is my design?
remove my glasses, step into his mind
sometimes I wish I had been born blind
analyze the evidence, make the connections
step out of the box that controls your projections
there is no one disorder to explain
the things that go on inside of my brain