Johnathan the Serial Killer

The man is his own worst nightmare
The only thing is, he doesn't have a clue what he does
Once the lights have gone out
Once the room has gone silent

He doesn't know that he can escape
Doesn't know that he fashions one of his paper shoes Into a crude mask over his rugged features each night
And picks the lock on his door with a forbidden bobbypin

And when the nurses ask in the morning
Where is your shoe Johnathan?
He replies honestly with simple, childish innocence
I ated it.

Because that is what he believes, and they believe him
Because he is simply
Crazy enough
To do it

They know what he used to do
All the people that turned up drained of blood
And he got off on insanity pleas
Though he is, quite insane

But it's more his other self
Than him
The quiet killer that hides behind the mask
Of paper sandal and crayon doodles

The police are baffled
As to how the killings haven't ceased
But Johnathan is always in his room
And the cameras in and outside of it always work

There's always a letter
Clutched in the hands of the victims
Fruit jews is sew delyceous,
Am sorrie I can never leaf yoo inny.

They are always signed
With a zombie smiley face that sticks out its tongue
And a scrawling script like a child's that simply reads:
With Luff and Kesses, KandeeKain

Johnathan sure loves Tuesdays doesn't he?
Asks a nurse coming from his room.
Yes he does, replies another, fruit juice is
His favorite.