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From the gloomy skies, thousands of birds |
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Are crashing down, swallowed up by glowing |
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Fires up to entrails. without any guide, |
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Sightless in flight, struck, snapped up |
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And crushed, harshness screaming, |
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Breakings and knocked spirals. |
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Hearts are bleeding, feathers are crackling |
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Gaping orbits, devoid of consumed eyes |
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Are filling up, with last red tears |
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Which are clotting one by one on the sterile |
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Ground ... from the crash of skulls, few |
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Pale fragments carried by a wave, are rising; |
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Earth is darkened by a mud on which the trees |
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Will live again... |
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Atrocity has its own ground: ultimate silt final feeding |
