One Of The Swarm

The scent of oh purest carnage familiar to these hills
 My father hath traversed these lands decades before
 My birth, a century doth pass by
 The veins of the earth entrenched with the millions of dead
 So few have my eyes seen in passing of glory
 The aesthetics of death painted upon the canvas
 So bewildering a scene
 All sensations seared
 All of my compassions numbed
 My humanity wrenched from behind my lungs
 The lusts of my bayonet, in crimson display
 Have spilled upon these hands
 From beneath my helmet do I glare back in sickening
 Approval of the malice we have sewn
 ♪
 My mind sentiment of no reason
 My face caressed by this foreign wind
 A pulmonary incantation writhes beneath these ribs
 Crying in blood drunk verse and beguiling like my conscious thought
 Of descending mortar fire
 Illuminates this blackest existence
 A serenity wreathed in flame
 ♪
 The skies were beautiful as they burned
 The dead roll over in their graves
 Above the mortars, my ears discern
 My father screaming in his grave