The blistering cold freezes the ground we stand upon,
the mud we protect with our lives,
as we stand beside the front line as the monotone winds
pierce soulless faces like knives,
behind the mask, we soldiers are crying,
we fight with our lives because inside we're dying.
The death of myself shan't cause effect, nor stir,
come back a husk of the man you once were,
the slaughter of one is a tragedy, as Stalin said;
but the massacre of millions is just a few more dead.

We spend our last dying moments in a filthy hole,
knowing our efforts had no meaning,
maybe death isn't the absence of life but saying goodbye,
aware of the waste of the bleeding, and screaming,
the bullets that hit us, lose our blood,
but the bullets we send lose our minds,
we sacrifice our forgotten pride for the humility of the state,
the motive long left behind.
You shan't die from the pierce of lead,
for you die the moment you start fighting,
you bleed out and merely become a statistic,
counted with the costs and explosives ignited.

Little Velvety creature.
precious animal friend,
brown ball of soft fur,
Humans think it's all to lend.

Do not harm our delicate companion!
must we always fritter?
alas our friend is decreasing in numbers...
save our cherished critter!

small beloved animal -
now protected in his home,
safe from terrible people -
miniature friend - no longer alone.

The Man was at the tavern at 08:30, 13th February, 1929
Flatcap on, and average but he couldn't help but notice the Men behind him dressed so fine.
See, for the booth behind held 7 men with 7 glasses of blood red wine,
But what were the men doing on the day before Valentine?

Did he know that those shadows concealed scars upon the leader's face?
and did he know for certain it was a Violin in that Violin case?
Thought the Flatcapped man as he held a half-empty pint of beer,
that these suited men in question, are suited men he should fear?
He knew that these men hid secrets.  Secrets he wouldn't dare try find.
But he knew most of all the leader had sorts of plotting scattered in this mind.
15th of February, 1929 and the Flatcap Man returns to the Bar,
He stands nearby the taps and looks around ~ he's the only one here so far.
The guy sits down and adjusts his cap, then orders a pint and pulls out the Friday news,
He remembers that he saw men on the 13th, and thought the men he saw were certainly shady, and what he sees on the papers proves...
14th February, 2 gangs take control of organized crimes in charcoal jackets and pressed fedora hats,
The south side Italians clash with the Irish-Americans, then invite Egan's Rats.
7 Men found dead in Chicago, shot and squashed like bugs,
But that is how all ends, if your life is in the hands of Notorious thugs,
All 7 Men found with bullets in their head,
few of them with broken bones and a heart pierced by Lead.
Of course this massacre was for everyone to hear,
and anyone who heard, it was definite they'd fear.

Bat within the morning,
basking upon the dawn,
frolicking within the dull red,
as the heavens begin to yawn.
Bat within the skies,
enjoying the lulling breeze,
flitting through the autumn forest,
wandering 'round the trees.
Bat within it's home,
eaten many flies,
hibernate throughout the day,
then take to the skies.

Wonderful town of Whitby, hundreds of marketplaces,
England's own astounding alleys of traditional aces,
Many things this obscure area tends to hide,
the most enjoyable boating docks and brine and quayside.
With cobbled streets aplenty,
Whitby is where I'd like to be,
no matter where on earth,
Whitby is the best for me.
Wonderful town of Whitby, Honour be upon it's history,
But how it's backstory came to be differs as a mystery.
Once upon a supposed legacy of legend and lore,
One quite possibly never seen before.
With it's Mystic vampiric anomaly,
Whitby is certainly my place,
no matter where on earth,
I'd love to be upon this space.
Wonderful town of Whitby, many books wrote about it,
with Whales, abbeys and vampires, it's hard to doubt it,
rare and beautiful creatures, dance within the mist,
Humpback, White and Minkeys on this list.
With it's Whales and sightings,
Whitby is my Sweven,
no matter where on earth,
This town is my Heaven.

Once upon a time forgotten,
on a shore where’st memories be rotten,
a foul salt lies upon the waters of life,
a distant thought of a lasting strife.

But that is the past, and though it shall remain,
become mindful, become present - peaceful and sane,
without the past, with present, it is your future that you save,
peace upon these sands and ocean! grief gone like a wave.

Although it still exists, The brine not sincere,
it is not a problem any longer, not a problem here.

The Warden announces; as the Diseased children cower in fear,
The mother stands beside the Warden.
"Evy'body remain calm, The Plague doc'or is 'ere!"

May God forbid; That you ever see that Mask,
Those cloaks, those masks,
those herbs and flasks...

It creeps towards the children; Looming in the silence.
equipped with little mind for medicine, a cane for violence.

Those soulless eyes,
the Putridly herbal aroma close, they despise,
but this masked creature ignores their cries.
The warden feeding mother Lies.

Dimly lit the cold room,
the pungent fume,
''I'll leave 'im to it"

The warden leaves.
but the Doctor stays and silently breathes.
Question on the matter if this Doctor's even Sane,
As it stares upon the child then whips him with the cane.
No Law defies,
the Mother Cries.

Pulling out it's Vials of  vial Herbs, this Freak,
Staring coldly around the silent room, pointing everywhere, it's beak.

It passes the two Children pouches of leaves; Mother grieving,
everybody remain Calm, The Plague Doctor is leaving!

Because it comes by chance, some luck is a gift,
A rolling dice will dance in the cosmic abyss,
Even very seldom will your blessing have sample,
begging for your better days to take a gamble.
you can bet it all and lose all your pay,
and the ticking time-watch wastes it all away.