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There is something grey before the dawn something burning |
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Bodies in their black bags consigned to the flame |
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Bathing in the flame of a burning ache through my core |
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As creatures we are trying to crawl back through the creation to the worm |
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A holocaust the feral gene |
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Deadly strychnine taking hold wrapping itself round every sinew |
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What is left a burning seething mass |
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The air dank with the heady odour of decadence |
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Choking out the decadence leaves emptiness |
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Scared with scars carspaces over the body |
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Monuments to our destruction |
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A mixture both terrible and beautiful |
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The flames rise the pulse of primal existence |
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The grinding repetition such dullness the edges seem to fade |
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It burns away the black day gone |
