I write to you to have someone to talk to
I don't know what to do
There blood on the streets, its on my shoes
Death had been collecting its dues
Stop and smell that wonderfully awful fume
I sit here half naked in my bed
Cowering under the bed sheet
No time for a meet and greet
They are marching on
From dusk till dawn
Their skin hangs loose
Man kind made his own noose
We have dabbled in god
And we have created something quite odd
They will feast on us for the rest of time
We live in fear and grime
I hear the faint yell
From those monster from hell
I must go.
And hope they do slow.