Locked onto innocent target.
Relinquish the rockets.
The little boy's bracket,
Records all the bodies lying down in their turrets.

No trauma received,
Mental droning perceived,
As common as breathing,
For death blows on the breeze.

How shallow are breaths,
When humanity tempts,
The weak of heart dying from carrion and stench.

The holy ones warm life's bench,
Their pawns play the field,
We're playing a game with sticks clenched,
where failure sees fates sealed.

The drone like a referee strikes out the ones revealed.

Bullets will burrow in the souls of the guilty,
Let the broken rise up and eliminate the filthy!
They crawl on the floor playing weak forever more when they're really the strongest,
But they blind us with remorse!
To believe there is reason is to drown in your own lie,
For your sorry soul you can expect to die!

A soul near clean outweighs one appearing pristine.
Hogs wearing masks of their victims try to be queen.

They are swine to all no veil can hide them.
Squandering their own subjects and consuming all in sight,
Rotund with treachery and lies but useless when it comes to a fight.

Fire from the trench,
Up to the throne,
Pierce the hog's fat and break all his bones.
Give his meat to the starving lest they ask for more,
How humane are they.

How unruly the poor.