Colin Coplin

Rookie - 107 Points (Australia)

The Crime Of Death, A Portrait In Tomorrow's Sky - Poem by Colin Coplin

Idiots without heads, murder, treachery, the face of insanity
Smash new born babies, rape women, dogs, men, children
Mercy to none, gnaw away the bones of the dead
Bodies deformed, but fresh, observe no law, ah! ... but one
Survival, scourge, feast, cannibals, feast on your families

The sky is soaked in blood 'cause someone’s cloned the sun
The Solar System's crying, but Pluto doesn't need the sun

Thinking creations of the universe, bullshit
Where is your new world order now
Your democracy, your calculation, your air, your hope
Butchers, your cities crumble in amber
Your gods, demons of the mind, the soul, of life

Lifeless heads lay starring at the sunset
Human flesh is cooked in stu
Deeply sunken hungry eyes gloat on beggars banquet
Of mashed brains from the black market...and tasty too

Bodies lying in decay, flies feasting on starving man
A nine year old virgin, a bribe passed from hand to hand
Inhuman cruel heart, drink sulphurous poison water
Quench your thirst, spill the blood of sacred life
Lick the gutter, still to proud, then drink blood, human blood,
Survive...fools suck dead life into your veins

Pray, pray for death, pray it comes, soon, no, yes
The need to survive, still claws your insides
Yes survive, must have life, must survive
Push yourself for love, the belief that you've won
As you insanely reach for the last rays of the setting sun

The sky is soaked in blood 'cause someone’s cloned the sun
The Solar System's crying, but Pluto doesn't need no sun

When the songs are sung, the Universe will really see, how ugly you really are Eyes malformed, demented shape, all infectious sore
Atomic clouds fill the sky as air turns into death
Skeletons walk in heartbeat steps, looking for their flesh
As desolation turns itself into noisy prayer
As people from the monuments pray to God for shelter and care

Everlasting destruction hits the country side
Children scream as faces burn in ambers hungry tide
The seven masks of the lamb are now revealed in earnest
As nations burn like paper cups. no Noah can save you from this apocalypse

Crawl through the sewers in search of food, lick the gutters thirstily dry
Eat your hands before you starve, but always keep your pride

Plagued by battle your heads are crowned with gold
As the iron breast plate wings of your chariots, sail into the cold
With no faith in anything, your dragons will destroy
64,000 miles of life, where do you hope to hide

Mountains spit Hades to the sky, oceans fathom hell
All races race a marathon, into deaths citadel
While the mongrels who begun it all sleep like innocence far from the gloom
Like some great harlot they fornicate
Little caring for their abomination in their new, Babylon

Memories of the sun are passed around like food
Underground, way underground
Inventory(memories) of mother natures majestic parlour and sounds of laughter
Memories of life and love and growing up
Favourite tunes and men on the moon

Dreams of things that should of been
Of hair and teeth and favourite drinks
Beds and friends and things that were said
Things that seem to be so small, recall, and reel across the mind
Precious things and cherished things, are passed around, way underground
No, ain't no town, life carries on, survival underground, way underground

The sky is soaked in blood 'cause someone’s cloned the sun
The Solar System's crying, but Pluto doesn't need the sun

Copyright Colin Coplin 1978 / 2010


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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, December 8, 2010



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