Burning, driven by the desire.
The massacre in the fatal mire.
Jaundiced love and sickening hate,
Reckless mercenaries at the ravaged gate.
On their knees, on that withering day,
To their master, the zombies pray.
The carnage over, they ask for a favour-
Not passing independence; freedom forever.
As cold as death, the commander smiles,
Still lies ahead the uncharted miles.
There is no respite till he gets what he craves,
Everyone, everywhere, are to be his slaves.
The king of the world, the master of puppets,
Though he stabbed his love, there are no regrets.
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1 comment:
It reminds me of an eagles song..
Been some time, yes, its been long.
I wonder if you're talking of god,
Putting all the blame on the poor sod-
-of all things sad that've happened here.
Go out, boss, and get some air.
See a chick, or maybe two.
A world of good it'd do to you.
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