The Wrong-doer

Run, I must run
My breath, I am losing
The insane man is close behind me
Laughing barbarically as he swings
His axe
Oh, what a sensation as
The blunt instrument slices my back open
Face down in my guts, I lie
The brain juice it smells so vile
But yet so sweet
His thunderous boots trod down on my skull
His hands tear me open
With a bellowing laugh