Bins (revisited)

I heard angelic violins
God told me go
And purge their sins
I plan my work
And disciplines
The needful slaughter,
Now begins

Rohypnol mixed
In cocktail gins
With muffled screams
Like rattling tins
They can’t run fast
With broken shins
My knife and hatchet
Always wins

I am their cure
Their medicines
With careful carving
And well placed pins
I’ve made a suit
From human skins
Now nobody laughs
And no one grins

I heard angelic violins
The soothing sound
Of mandolins
I dance with
Human mannequins
Then slice them up
Like onion skins

As for my pathetic victims
Garbage bags I put them in
after all; I’m only
Taking out the bins