Psycho

[George.Wright]

Look at the man with the strange bulging, crazy eyes
Watch as the buzzards fly over and follow him in the skies
And he lived on his own in a desolate farm in the mid West
No one paid much notice to him, he was a seen as a bit of a pest

His farm had no electricity to light up the starry, darkened, night
As he lived in squalor alone, with his insane views of what was right
No one dared to visit him at his desolate and creepy home
He was viewed as a psycho who lived with himself, all alone

But there were skeletons in his idolised and maternal past
There were bodies hung upside down and carved and gutted, at last
Skin that was tautly stretched over a flea and maggot ridden settee
Dress once again in my dead mothers clothes, all for me

Shrunken and mummified skin and heads adorned the walls
And bits of limbs were put in umbrella stands in the hall
Sitting all alone as a transvestite in the cannibal gloom
Whilst death made a mockery of any life that existed in that room

Haunted by the police because they suspected, he murdered a store owner
He was always viewed in the town as a bit crazy and as a loner
When the police searched his farmhouse by night, in bright torchlight
The visions of macabre, fell into their faces, to their utmost fright.

Georges.