Every last page of his love letter collection
Breathed new life into his bloody erection
“We love you, Alejandro Cherrystone!
We can do it in your cell or on the phone
We know you’ve skinned your victims raw
We know you broke a prostitute’s jaw
We know you mutilated neighborhood pets
It doesn’t make us lust for you any less”
Every last page of the dirtiest magazines
Is filled with beauty nobody’s ever seen
Long black locks and androgynous lips
Tight black Speedo clinging to his hips
A six-pack that he worked hard to sculpt
Smooth legs that could start his own sex cult
It’s easy to forget his towering body count
Even when formaldehyde assaults your snout
Every last page of the stenographer’s notes
Crushes every baby girl’s romantic hopes
A heart like his could never be warm
Neither could his corpses left out in the storm
A life behind bars is what he so deserves
Not to be sexed up by the youngest of pervs
Not to be a wet dream for teenage queens
There’d be no debate if he looked like a fiend
Every last page of his death certificate
Makes claims of innocence insignificant
Stabbed to death with a rusty shank
While making a deposit in the sperm bank
Shower water washed away his blood
And the mess left by his supermodel butt
Never mind leaving flowers on his grave
Unless it’s necrophilia which you crave
Every last page of his docudrama script
Now smolders in a pyromantic abyss
No glory for killers, no cinematic thrillers
But compensation for his victims’ tear-spillers
They don’t have to forgive for Jesus’ sake
If Alejandro was alive, he’d continue to take
Never giving back to the world he bloodied
Except for hybristophilia to his favorite honeys
Rest in piss and we’ll see you in hell
This is the only story we should tell
Until the next killer casts a horny spell
Until the next cult forms, oh fucking well
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