One more year, the Day of Dead starts over. Prepare the knives, put on the mask and let there be some slaughter. Infanticide, defiler of the life! Tearing their flesh from limb to limb to bring their dying light. Tiny arms and milky legs! Piece by piece he'll stitch their parts in artificial threads. Tormented souls held in his hands. Their mothers weep and wait on for the suffering to end. Once these bodies had a life! Lurid pink shiny skins reflect his lunacy. Their shattered withered heads shall be his twisted legacy. Pyschologically disturbed! He only was their friend! His twisted mind worked in some ways he'd never understand. Lonely and abandoned, left in this world alone. They already knew that never was a chance to get back home. The murder of the children was his last big mistake. In this very day, he must dig his own fucking grave...so deep! He'll pay for what he has done, facing the families that gone. Day of the dead! In his dry cell, he will rot in hell! Day of the dead!