Psycho

The hands still, considered, at peace and I consider why
A camera focuses on them so much
Eyes hollow, as a shark - you watch on
Expressionless, with no life or perspective

Slide onto the back seat and re-fix your glaze
Of resumption, not redemption - I feel your contempt deep
Perfectly groomed, not one long hair out of place as
You answer glibly, without substance - you artfully reveal nothing

How long have your parents been dead, how many of your friends
Imagined or otherwise have seen a little beneath to the real horror
The calm you portray belies the polar nature of your extremes, presently
Masked, yet you reveal much in the output of your inconsistency

Not for you, perhaps I guess, a charnel house, or a grisly find of
Dismembered corpses, the fragments of bone and cloth, stark light revealing bare soiled bricks
With the manner of `ever so, ever so` - I dread those hands have
Done violence with a terrible strength and peace is a spent quest

If I`m wrong, I could be forgiven - we know that
The line between dreams, nightmares and reality is blurred
The metaphor or evidence for your crime may be found close by as
Stranger has indeed happened – but be sure your sins will find you out