genetically modified...every part of me on a line...assembly,
injected a mother, killed...raised to murder, what a thrill, trembling
skills honed in a distant land of frost
bow and arrows, slay the beasts to eat, tearing out hearts, holding my bloody hand aloft
any would be trackers, father figure ran them off
bearing a military industrial complex phantom cross
when I was truly prepared, the tracking device was activated
stealth mode helicopters dropped special ops, packs of sadists
floodlights spilling invasively, seeking to isolate me
all the better to identify me as the target for marksmen, rifles waiting
my knife is pacing, back and forth from these ambidextrous hands
adept at delivering death in a definite span, any weapon command
is mine for the taking, heart racing running from a darkened satan
contagion in a three piece suit and heels, suitably evil, blood congeals
been hiding for too long, time to find her location and name, what's the deal?
somehow found, awakened in a jumpsuit, the captain plays Tenille

I'm mumbling, feigning helplessness, going in for sympathy's embrace
a snapped neck for the disposal, emergency sirens cover the base
armed guards flooding my cell, or training dummies brought to life to die now?
submission holds, now holding a gun, all the soldiers lie down
eyeballs hiding behind microphones and closed circuits are panicking
a killing machine bridging the gap between instinct and my mechanic shrieks
the door's ajar, I'm slipping out to the thrum of loudspeakers and army boots
too fixated on surviving to concern myself with any charming ruse
just there, shadows cast on the wall guide me to a ventilation duct
easier to avoid than waste energy on those with guns raising up
my bare feet slap the cold cement with enough drive to keep me away
trying to unravel the puzzle pieces, maternity wards with evil arrays
beast and the prey, time for a dizzying role reversal, set it here
somewhere between the temporal lobe and heightened lively of my hemispheres
flickering synapses stutter attack modes in advanced throes and killshots
looking for any method of escape, standing above the hilltop

a trapped daughter of Blackwater and manslaughter, advanced, thought of
a plan, caught up in vans, solemn with hands, acknowledging all of them stand
a world amalgamated from tomes dog eared and outdated
betrayed by the very one who claimed to hold me close, now facing
the proud patient, the sole success story from her mechanical womb
the miserly matron's mortality facing the grim reaper's manacles soon
in a strange land festooned with the surreal and abandoned, the end begins
they killed the one man who explained my reason for being condemned to win
high heels tap carnival ride sleepers, in search of a masterpiece
but these brushstrokes are bristles which made genetic traits that slash and bleed
an immaculate beast hidden inside of my inconspicuous form
the calm marching in death's valley, calling forth the wickedest storm
Let me be clear, this isn't a war, it's a prisoner understanding its bars
living off the land and instincts, all the while planning to march
a funeral dirge for the beautiful lies enchanted by her woven web
building the perfect killing machine, indeed, but never knowing the ledge