Fit For An Autopsy The Wolf
Stalking the herd with a rapid sense of purpose. The desperate hunter
Smells the fear in the fleeting cattle. Driven by survival, and the
Sound by the children crying. Surrounded by flies, maggots, and
Parasites. Waiting to feed on the bodies of the dying. The old wolf
With silver in his eyes, hears more than you see and knows it is him
Who is not truly blind. The cracked teeth never fail to chew trough
The bone. Guardian of nothing. The rotting earth is his throne.
Convulsing in final word conversations. Indulging in last supper death
Bed invitations. The vultures tear at barren life. Scavengers pick at
The chalk lines of dry corpses disgust for all that's breathing and
That's living. Decomposition of the wretched failure we call our
Lives. Watch them feed, a colony of fools. Scraping at the plates of
The lesser beings. Insatiable impatience. The wolf is foaming at the
Mouth. The flock turns into a frenzy. Bloodthirsty Appetite.
Devolutionized through carnage piece by piece, bite by bite. Process
Of human extermination. Progress by impending elimination. The
Wretched failure we call our lives.
