To the Throats

There's no god down here.

I dreamed
Of thousands of bodies raining,
Falling like bombs
Straight to their graves.
Manna coming from heaven
Just to feed grief.
The fields covered with the glorious corpses
Of all the believers broken under the wheel.
Meat for the dogs
Compost to the soil.
Nothing else.

No valhallas, no glory,
No god was here to see
As the young blood
Is the one best bleeds.

Th'Angel of Fate turns them with mighty hands.
And casts them out upon the darken'd Earth!
Till all the graves are digged
And the deserts are painted in red.
And rise, with ghosts, over the well-fought field.

So be it.

More!, more! Never enough!
And the leftovers pile up in mass graves.
Bodies rotting, life spouting.
Stems crawling silent

More!, more! Never enough!
And the leftovers pile up in mass graves.
Bodies rotting, life spouting.
Stems crawling silent

Stems crawling silent
To the throats of the murderers.
Stems crawling silent
To the throats of the murderers.
Stems crawling silent
To the throats of the murderers.
Stems crawling silent
To the throats, to the throats.