Ghost of Departure

Within the halls of the infirm
 I inject, I slice, I make them squirm
 None can reveal
 Dressed in white, ushering their poisoned meals
 Overdosing
 Their grip of life, pragmatically closing
 I hold the blade to their mortal coil
 And they find sleep in the soil
 With syringe in hand
 They'll die as planned
 Their life I cease
 With morbid ease
 Sordid addiction
 The will to defile
 Innate, since birth,
 A carcinophile
 Untraceable, Intangible
 Feeding an infant
 With tainted lead
 Ejaculate
 As the tumor spreads
 A lethal dose of insulin
 Exposure to fatal pathogens
 With syringe in hand
 They'll die as planned
 Their life I cease
 With morbid ease
 The sickness, alluring,
 The foul stench enduring
 The snapping of bones
 A delectable tone
 Of septic necrosis
 And cruel diagnosis
 The Ghost Of Departure
 Is feeding on their helpless cries
 With syringe in hand
 They'll die as planned
 I deliver the sick,
 Now who shall I pick
 Incisions cut so deep
 I bless them with eternal sleep
 And even if I fall
 I've honored Him through Infernal Call.