Spirits of the Dead
Raise the horse’s head above the iron gate,
muster in the grim hour of dawn.
Searching with these cold eyes of vanity,
Drowning in a mad river of despair.
Send for the horror acolyte,
her words shall seduce the dying.
Trickles of fire running down the sidewalk,
half mutilated bodies screech insanely.
Blood and flimsy organs askew on shattered concrete.
Broken faces are forgotten by a bullet’s path,
rejoice in a malformed savior.
Calculated methods for suicide outweigh life,
go ahead and spiral downward into hell.
Reigning with a ringlet of fire,
spreading doom to the ignorant world.
This fine city turned into a sinkhole of refuse,
dark sin forged in a silver knife.
Wicked grins masquerade the evil intention,
fear implodes these lost hearts of mankind.
Angel’s crucified for the greater demon,
arise from the crypt of damnation to serve your term.
