do come here, gentleman, touch how soft their fleece is

which of these you take home is up yours to decide

cut her open and pick out your favourite pieces

cash or card; here the tax is already applied

in a field of raw meat it’s a buyer’s market

and you’ve been looking around for something new

you came in with a knife and I was your target

in a shape of a heart I was looking at you

cravings come in a wave for a bite that’s blood fresh

let me finish my job so you could do your crimes

even though I’m aware you’re not worthy of my flesh

for your teeth on my bones I’d die a hundred times

witness my liquid red dripping through your fingers

grab a feel of my skin while it is still warm

in the back of your head there’s a thought that lingers

beneath you lies something you have no right to harm

do come here, little lamb, come here to the slaughter

sweet music to my ears is your dying sound

you’re a butcher’s son, I am someone’s daughter

a purchase deal where justice cannot be found