Brutal murder (brutal murder)
All hands to the slaughter
Mass torture
All hands to the knife

And I can hear the screams
With the knife, the jolt, the wring
They must follow in our dreams
Carrying a twisted sting

Children's stories with their farmyard favourites
At the table in a different disguise

Don't talk to me of health
Or something someone else will do
We're talking about the act
Of taking life for me and you

And I hear their screams