The sharpening is a wonderful process,
to think the blade will meet your neck,
more reason to continue on and press,
ever so slowly as skin is torn to a wreck
Why won't you give in?
The screaming just makes it worse,
your limbs are simply thrown in the bin,
chunks of carcass all around leaves nothing but a curse

a deadly tool of the trade,
impossible to clean from the mess I've made,
inflicting wounds as deep as your lies,
mentally ripping it through your hypnotic eyes

Lyrics submitted by Raptor45

Machette song meanings
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