Sin Nostri Proditor - Poem by Brian Hinckley
Bloody chains of fearful reactions,
caught sickening in the soft flesh of reason.
Instant anger, hot and sharp, digging deep,
reason, cool and serene, cries out as it dies.
Delving into madness with silent steel,
pitching sanity into gravel landfills.
Vulgus publicus sifts broken-hearted,
children lost in the devils playground.
Away foul betrayer, shouts the six-foot soul,
hollow and tomb-like, lost in the confusion.
Anger and Degradation, kings that sit upon a throne of skulls,
laugh as they shine the key to our immortal prison cells.
Lies! Lies! You spew hate-filled venom about the crowd,
Anger justified because of your boisterous silence!
You! You! You are the foul betrayer, Six-Foot Soul,
stay in your crypt and wither, nostrum populus need you no longer.
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