De Arma Behind These Filthy Panes
Yellow and fulled and poisoned
The light that spills
Flowing like pus
Bearing a thousand stinking ills
Will it clean these blackened wounds?
And carry this filth away?
Will it heal a rotting mind?
And bring light back to the day?
Suffocationg tides of grey crush my world
Causing my flesh to shiver
I don't want to inhale their reek
Spew burns my gorge as in enters
The dirt pours into me
Through my eyes, my ears, my skin
Limbs to dead sticks
Meat turns to cancer
What form of malaise lurks
Behind a veil of glass so stained?
Besmirched by the shades
Of a thousand desecrations
Tainted and degraded
By the whims of the malnourished
Twitched fingers carry the contagion
That burns the souls of those who remain