Here in the land of blind dogs and
screeching pigs, I lay me down to rest.
Where predators prowl and scavengers growl,
We snuggle like baby carrion fowl
in a squalid, rotting, rancid, reeking nest.
Where the death-stench and fat flies
fill greenish yellow bruised sad skies
and, necrophilia is a spectator sport;
We contendly feast on fresh slaughter beast
then wrapped in entrails,...
Continue reading...