The sweat on the brow
How he toils away
At work to sever flesh
Yet never leaves a bloody mess

Tidy sickness on the prowl
Rubber gloves and sharpened blades
As he does his raids
Always neat and clean

Freak of a sickened place
A wretched spawn not of nature
Hunting down dirt
Both in dust and human form

The cleaners theme
The sounds of pain so obscene
Ripping and tearing apart
Leaving no trace at all