I Smell Death Poem by Friday Dejavu

Soothing to my soul,
Let the heathens boil.
My stones of faith kill,
I smell death from mother earth.

Let the trumpet sound,
Gather the faithful around.
End time is nearer,
Bring me the bowl bearer.

From mountain top lies descended,
Prayers of saint have ascended.
Prepare the musicians,
Woe to devilish politicians.

I see smile everywhere,
Why are they dinning over dead?
In olden time I have read,
God of vengeance is alive.

White, blue or pink house,
Feed my surplus to my mouse.
Why must the children starve?
While their fathers misbehave

I smell drums of war,
Break their iron bar.
Prepare my weapons,
Invite angels' responds.