American horror
(Intro) Yeah. This ain’t a glorification. This is an autopsy. A lyrical exhibition of the American nightmare. The shadows that walked among us, hiding in plain sight. We’re flipping the pages of a dark history. Listen close. (Verse 1) Step into the Murder Castle, Chicago's grim architect, H.H. Holmes with the blueprints, a twisted intellect. Trap doors, hidden vaults, a maze of deception, The Gilded Age killer, an evil inception. Move forward to Fish, the boogeyman in the flesh, A waking nightmare putting sanity to the test. Then out in Wisconsin, the macabre Ed Gein, Crafting horrors in a farmhouse, entirely insane. He's the blueprint for Hitchcock, the Bates Motel lore, A psychological terror knocking right at your door. Then the Boston Strangler, DeSalvo in the night, Left a city gripped in panic, locking every window tight. The infancy of profiling, the FBI baffled, Trying to understand the minds on the devil’s scaffold. (Chorus) Yeah, we look into the abyss, and the abyss looks back, Following the footsteps on a terrifying track. American nightmares, the monsters in the mist, A dark psychology that shouldn't even exist. From the charm to the shadows, the masks that they wear, The true crime chapters of a national despair. We study the darkness, try to comprehend the flaws, When humanity breaks its own natural laws. (Verse 2) The seventies struck, a new breed on the prowl, Ted Bundy with the charm, but his spirit was foul. A charismatic monster with a fake cast on his arm, Weaponizing empathy to cause the ultimate harm. Meanwhile in Illinois, Pogo painted a smile, John Wayne Gacy hiding secrets underneath the floor tile. A pillar of the town, putting on a charade, While thirty-three victims in the crawlspace decayed. Then up in Milwaukee, the apartment of dread, Jeffrey Dahmer kept the remnants of the lives that he shed. Chilling isolation in a chemical vat, A profoundly broken psyche where the demons just sat. The Co-Ed Killer, Kemper standing at six-foot-nine, Turned himself in when he crossed the final line. The Bay Area shook when the Zodiac spoke, Cryptograms in the papers, a sadistic joke. He played with the press, a phantom in the night, Never caught, just a shadow fading out of the light. Dennis Rader in Kansas, the BTK bind, Thirty years of silence, leaving trauma behind. Richard Ramirez, the Night Stalker in the heat, Pentagrams and panic down a Californian street. Aileen Wuornos on the highway, a tragic descent, A fractured existence where the rage was all spent. Son of Sam in New York, Berkowitz in the dark, Blaming a neighbor's dog in the local park. Gary Ridgway, Green River, slipping through the rain, A quiet subjugator leaving decades of pain. The Golden State Killer, DeAngelo’s cold run, Took DNA forensics just to get the job done. (Bridge) So many names, so many ghosts in the file, Behind the white picket fences and the neighborly smile. It’s the dark side of the coin of the American Dream, Where the quietest houses hide the loudest scream. (Outro) Yeah. No honor in their names. Just a study of the fracture. Remember the victims. Forget the perpetrators' glory. This is just the chilling truth of the American story. (Piano fades out slowly, heartbeat bass thumps into silence) Yeah. We out.
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(Intro) Yeah. This ain’t a glorification. This is an autopsy. A lyrical exhibition of the American nightmare. The shadows that walked among us, hiding in plain sight. We’re flipping the pages of a dark history. Listen close. (Verse 1) Step into the Murder Castle, Chicago's grim architect, H.H. Holmes with the blueprints, a twisted intellect. Trap doors, hidden vaults, a maze of deception, The Gilded Age killer, an evil inception. Move forward to Fish, the boogeyman in the flesh, A waking nightmare putting sanity to the test. Then out in Wisconsin, the macabre Ed Gein, Crafting horrors in a farmhouse, entirely insane. He's the blueprint for Hitchcock, the Bates Motel lore, A psychological terror knocking right at your door. Then the Boston Strangler, DeSalvo in the night, Left a city gripped in panic, locking every window tight. The infancy of profiling, the FBI baffled, Trying to understand the minds on the devil’s scaffold. (Chorus) Yeah, we look into the abyss, and the abyss looks back, Following the footsteps on a terrifying track. American nightmares, the monsters in the mist, A dark psychology that shouldn't even exist. From the charm to the shadows, the masks that they wear, The true crime chapters of a national despair. We study the darkness, try to comprehend the flaws, When humanity breaks its own natural laws. (Verse 2) The seventies struck, a new breed on the prowl, Ted Bundy with the charm, but his spirit was foul. A charismatic monster with a fake cast on his arm, Weaponizing empathy to cause the ultimate harm. Meanwhile in Illinois, Pogo painted a smile, John Wayne Gacy hiding secrets underneath the floor tile. A pillar of the town, putting on a charade, While thirty-three victims in the crawlspace decayed. Then up in Milwaukee, the apartment of dread, Jeffrey Dahmer kept the remnants of the lives that he shed. Chilling isolation in a chemical vat, A profoundly broken psyche where the demons just sat. The Co-Ed Killer, Kemper standing at six-foot-nine, Turned himself in when he crossed the final line. The Bay Area shook when the Zodiac spoke, Cryptograms in the papers, a sadistic joke. He played with the press, a phantom in the night, Never caught, just a shadow fading out of the light. Dennis Rader in Kansas, the BTK bind, Thirty years of silence, leaving trauma behind. Richard Ramirez, the Night Stalker in the heat, Pentagrams and panic down a Californian street. Aileen Wuornos on the highway, a tragic descent, A fractured existence where the rage was all spent. Son of Sam in New York, Berkowitz in the dark, Blaming a neighbor's dog in the local park. Gary Ridgway, Green River, slipping through the rain, A quiet subjugator leaving decades of pain. The Golden State Killer, DeAngelo’s cold run, Took DNA forensics just to get the job done. (Bridge) So many names, so many ghosts in the file, Behind the white picket fences and the neighborly smile. It’s the dark side of the coin of the American Dream, Where the quietest houses hide the loudest scream. (Outro) Yeah. No honor in their names. Just a study of the fracture. Remember the victims. Forget the perpetrators' glory. This is just the chilling truth of the American story. (Piano fades out slowly, heartbeat bass thumps into silence) Yeah. We out.