[Chorus: Insane Poetry]
You are just a roadside burial (burial)
Just another roadside burial (burial)
You are just a roadside burial (burial)
Another victim of my roadside burial (burial)
You are just a roadside burial (burial)
Just another roadside burial (burial)
Saw it from a crows-eye aerial
Another one of my roadside burials

[Verse 1: Insane Poetry]
Yeah! It's Edgar Allan Holiman
And my genre's been possessed by a haunted pen
Write death that's astonishing
I blacked out then I followed them
Cornered them encountered them
Then gave 'em all 'til the count of ten
You see I listen to the voices and the sounds within
I bound their limbs then drove 'em out to a mountain ridge
Deserted place in the space where they used to counsel kids
Where the town forbids for you to be and shoot that's not your biz
Even the sheriffs aware of my nightly actions
Behind the parish it's apparent that I might be slashin'
Rip 'em open fast with slivers of broken glass
Witness your throat get slashed
Wicked, my soul is damned
This is how I treat people I meet
Accidentally on purpose not even knowing underneath my strategy was perfect
I keep 'em cozy, I keep 'em 'til I don't need 'em
They bodies I cast away outside of town in a shallow grave
[Chorus: Insane Poetry]
You are just a roadside burial (burial)
Just another roadside burial (burial)
You are just a roadside burial (burial)
Another victim of my roadside burial (burial)
You are just a roadside burial (burial)
Just another roadside burial (burial)
Saw it from a crows-eye aerial
Another one of my roadside burials

[Verse 2: Insane Poetry]
Yeah! I swoop down like a hawk to a mouse
Victims are easy pickings
I spot 'em, attack, then I leave 'em drippin'
And I ain't even trippin', I come to leave 'em twitchin'
Butcher knife to the throat as I proceed to stick 'em
Yo bro you seen the crimson? For sure a demon livin'
Inside of my thoughts at night 'til I had seen his visions
Reported people missing, the corpses he had hidden
Inside of the back of a black sedan that he had driven
Across states in search of the perfect place
Eight hours was worth the wait that the person deserved his fate
Probably not but it's a hobby that I got
When my instincts percolate sensing your worst mistakes
Cuz men scream songs of their sufferance
When things went wrong when I was cuttin' them
Insane poetry is something divine
The way I get rid of the bodies and I dump 'em in lime
Let's go!
[Chorus: Insane Poetry]
You are just a roadside burial (burial)
Just another roadside burial (burial)
You are just a roadside burial (burial)
Another victim of my roadside burial (burial)
You are just a roadside burial (burial)
Just another roadside burial (burial)
Saw it from a crows-eye aerial
Another one of my roadside burials