Lyrics
He was a traveling house painter,
church going Perpetrator or broken neighbor.
Wisteria Cottage, Manhattan - Lies a long abandoned,
pre-selected slaughter house.
Her boyish looks, tomboy demeanor - she died a virgin,
he led them to her skull.
Blood splattered walls and floor boards,
buried, rusted, blood stained - the cleaver and the saw.
Oh, no.
Synthetic ears, horrific fears,
the monsters imprint - hang framed upon a wall.
Some things you learn from being orphaned -
Compartmentalized, invisible persona.
From New York to Montana,
he's had his hands on every state.
covered the tracks and take the children,
to inflict the pain and to receive the same.
Oh, No!
He's got his Vices.
Follow these Voices.
Run like the 'Blind Man'.
Yeah, He's the 'Gray Man'.
He's got his Vices - There's some you'll never believe
Follow these Voices - He won't let anyone leave.
Run like the 'Blind Man' - You won't get out once you're in.
Yeah, He's the 'Gray Man' - And His Salvation is Sin.
He had the grace of God inside him,
embodied pathology and taken in the flesh.
Of all the children slayed inside him - Resonate the idea of sacrifice.
Delusional, sadistic wishes.
Conjor the thought - Religious psychosis.
You put the words together to see what they mean,
lash them until the blood runs red down at their feet.
Oh, No!
He's got his Vices.
Follow these Voices.
Run like the 'Blind Man'.
Yeah, He's the 'Gray Man'.
He's got his Vices - There's some you'll never believe
Follow these Voices - He won't let anyone leave.
Run like the 'Blind Man' - You won't get out once you're in.
Yeah, He's the 'Gray Man' - And His Salvation is Sin.