Pity slips through Death's fingers like sand,
In the ocean of lost souls greed holds his hand.
The somber silence of dawn born bloodred,
Winds lament the song of the dead.

War watches with cold beady eyes,
Hope swallows the lump she cries.
Love sleeps somewhere in the distance,
As if it could make a difference.

Starvation cackles his hysterical laugh,
Vultures feast on his behalf.
Apocalypse settled here,
The angel of mercy is near.

She turns her iridescent head,
She won’t mourn the valiant dead.
She bestows supple angelic wings,
To innocence trapped in the thick of things.

A lull now in the chill of violence,
Eerie is the sound of silence.
Evil rules the heart of man,
Eagerly clenched in Death’s hand.