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Abandoned hopes to die and rot;
to each their own deserted plot.
Where pastures once to caking mud
and souls who cursed the promised flood.
Of burning huts and blistered skin,
machetes, screams and godless din.
Of men gone mad out of the dust,
out of the cracks in wrinkled crust.
Old vultures squabbling over bones
from charcoaled trees and scorching stones.
Their nights as cold as are the dead,
the light of day hung, dried and bled.
In life as those who in their graves,
like mounds of flesh in hollow caves.
Leave flies to reap the salt from tears
’till brined in grief and hard borne fears.
And all the while the flaming sun;
who’d gasp for death, thy kingdom come.
Who’d pray, who’d beg, who’d hope for rain
and all who would, they would in vain.
to each their own deserted plot.
Where pastures once to caking mud
and souls who cursed the promised flood.
Of burning huts and blistered skin,
machetes, screams and godless din.
Of men gone mad out of the dust,
out of the cracks in wrinkled crust.
Old vultures squabbling over bones
from charcoaled trees and scorching stones.
Their nights as cold as are the dead,
the light of day hung, dried and bled.
In life as those who in their graves,
like mounds of flesh in hollow caves.
Leave flies to reap the salt from tears
’till brined in grief and hard borne fears.
And all the while the flaming sun;
who’d gasp for death, thy kingdom come.
Who’d pray, who’d beg, who’d hope for rain
and all who would, they would in vain.
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