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.