The crow's iron call slips through the still biting air
Clouds of smoke obscure the valley hanging like a noose
The husk of buildings stand brittle and dry nuclear decadence
Withering household overcome by consumption
A blight of fences swarm of cutthroat beckoning
Lost soles seething in self loathing
Lethal lances soaked in poisoned wells
Eyes sutured with the thread of hegemony
Stomach soured by a diet of bile and vacuoius sweets
Pack of wild dogs teeth sharp and clean by green bark
Storm of vultures await the prey to hunt themselves
Whether by spell to lift curses and shorten sons shadow
Or by pike polearm medicine and prickling phalanx
Put to rest, in purgatory

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