Comedy from dreary florists
Ends in massacre
Lights off and prayers spoken.
Broken tongues and inflicted bones.
Whats more or a less a decision
Virtual cutting to the scalps
For cowards, nevertheless.
Sacred times are upon us now.
So tonight the dogs will eat
Your final eyes, before bed
Rest in nestling graves.
To monitor the living brethren.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem