Scenes of bloodshed,
Have made the shadows shudder.
Their leaders are dead,
Duped by their own blunders.
Clouds rain blood,
As the masses stand motionless,
Drowning in the flood.
Fathers murdered in clusters,
No word from the mothers,
Children deprived of their protectors,
Left with no blood to bleed,
Unbearable is this horrendous scene,
The land is in the grip of pestilent grief.
The crimson liquid has seeped into the ground,
A source of pleasure for the Bloodhounds,
Covered in sheets of gold,
Believing these acts of horror will remain untold.
Now, it’s time to prepare for the grand feast,
For the dessert is poor man’s meat.