New York Times...

its time to boil...
its time to steam...
blood shed to soil...
without esteem...

it's time for bitter...
it's time for tears...
it's time for gutter...
it's time for fears...

"the darker... the prey...
the fleshier the feasts..."
the unholy pray...
for the darkness of beasts...

beasts of the shadows...
are shadows of beasts...
haunting their laughter...
tempting their priests...

priests of the money...
their only true god...
the pot with the honey...
the bone for the dog...

they meet Him each day...
in their ruthless world...
but even a prey... finds not a way...
in their unworthy word...

cries of the mothers...
they lost their springs...
smother their babies...
in their farewell swings...

innocent's blood...
was always soft...
like nuptial bud...
in the hands of the loft...

innocent's blood...
is always good...
for talk shows... for washing...
even for food...

food for the masses...
the massacre fun...
food for the classes...
for just to have fun...

the vultures above...
like screams from hell...
spears the cloud...
of humans to fell...

scatter their skies...
dismember their steel...
shatter their lives...
and melt them to feel...

the pain of false...
the drain of souls...
the gain of loss...
in the rain of bones...