The old foul bitches grabbed the power
that turned out to be rotten meat
of aborted babies, tortured hope
and lost birds that fell out of the sky
killed by the one curse and the other lie.
So now slothfully on that thrones of mistreat
they grimly overlook their supposed empire
that appears from the bottom against each hill
filled with foamy stinking self-eating mouls
and the sound and smell of coping slime.
They don’t see the nothingness they reign
the destruction they mindless gave birth to
they think they did well – no regrets and still
none of their senses notice the sword behind
that will shred them to shit of the same kind.