Oh tormented souls, what fear ye?
The suffering of men lies above,
Groping hands cannot touch thy solemn rest.
This place is a sanctuary of departed breath,
The cage in which men lay scratching at the door,
Gasping for the sovereignty where they once partook.
Speckled demons from above,
Blood-stained wings flutter to earth
Alighting on thy eternal tomb.
Where is this place of dust and ash?
Where no wildflower dare to make its domicile,
Foul soil where nothing dost grow.
Angels sing from the shadowed crevices beneath,
Carping the melody of humanities trounce,
Eyes withdrawn, decaying smiles fade to black.
Screams of agony and waves of writhing mass,
Tighten the veins of the king’s ominous pleasure,
A song as sweet as the cries on September 11th.
Of love and joy take no heed,
For this land belongs to the serpent,
The preservation of the wicked and damned.
Assiduous punishment from the tongues of flames,
Sharpen steel on Redstone floor,
Echo the toll of man’s treachery throughout.
The hunter's motivation is fueled by his victims cries.
