I know your limits through pins and needles and centerfolds.
He's grown tired of clawing at the walls of his black room.
His step...there's a helpless cancer in his step.
I've killed for less than this, my dear,
And tonight I'm returning home with werewolves.
For it is in the fears of man I reside.

Listening to this child cry out a victim's spit.
I've killed for less than this. Redrum.
Consume these bright lights, dear child.
And you will taste never again.