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.