Rudiments of Mutilation

"Come thou fount of every blessing"
Ichor of the human pulse.
Flow forth with no abandon.
Suffering tortured beasts.
Empathy dulled under ages of wearing,
through wailing and howling,
incessantly blaring.
Murdering lambs, unknowing.
Eating the hearts of your children.
Burying mothers, alive.
Wandering in contempt of life.