THE BUTCHER’S LEDGER
The walls are sweating with the stench of the lie,
While the vultures in suits watch the innocent die.
You call them "leaders," you call them "the state,"
But they’re monsters fueled by a bottomless hate.
We thought we could trust the hand on the wheel,
But it’s satanic filth and a heart made of steel.
Blood-sucking leeches in a temple of sin,
Letting the child-torturing nightmare begin.
No more whispers, no more polite "reform,"
When pedophiles gather to shelter the storm.
They feast on the small, they prey on the weak,
While the truth is a language they refuse to speak.
The mask is ripped off, the rot is laid bare,
There’s a venomous smoke in the hollowed-out air.
They aren't just failing; they’re the beast at the door—
And the people won't bleed for the lies anymore.
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