Play With Your Prey - Abramelin

My children, my children they do as they’re told

Unquestionable loyalty, instructors obeyed

For I’m their provider, a teacher, a God

A father, but not in a biological way

My children are carefully chosen

Selected, hand-picked if you will

Expectant mothers are regarded and studied

The unborn assessed, I move in for the kill

For the harvest of children’s a messy affair

Extracting a life while taking another

I’d like to say it’s a painless affair

But I car for the prize, not for the mothr

Sliced open wide, torn from the womb

Child wrapped in rags and concealed without sound

Whisked away to be raised as my own

As the mother bleeds out with her guts on the ground

Its new older siblings will tutor the child

My brood of fantastical killing machines

The perfect assassins that none would suspect

Insidious infants to terrible teens

I’m expanding my tribe, forming a cult

Children now harvesting all on their own

With skills and no conscious they’re a wonder to watch

Slice through the flesh, cut deep to the bone

Once they’re trained up, I contract them out

To clients who want someone out if the way

Make them die slowly, have fun, I say

Play with your prey before you slay

Play with your prey before you slay

Play with your prey before you slay