they're near the gates now
rising up from the bowels of the dark, hot, fiery south
they ride up from that god-forsaken hell
on the backs of pick-ups
black cloths wound around their faces
vengeance seething in cavernous black eyes
large dark hands that grip weapons of doom
they are a murderous host
and they are coming for us
lining up the children
lining up the women
lining up the men
a bullet for each, right in the head
a mechanical click and loud crack
a small cloud of dust in the dirt below
and they all slouch forward
extinguished there
dropping like lumps
to their deaths
those who had dreams and loves
seconds ago
those who were women and men
seconds ago
one jolly squeeze of the finger
reduces them all
to dog food
some they just cut open
some they mutilate
some they take and rape
the others they just amputate
all must bow before them
they are the wrath of a cruel god
a god that is very old
older than saturn and cronos
they are rising
all are fleeing their path
they are rising
outward, upward
and everything we held dear
everything we thought our lives would amount to
everything we believed we held true
and all that we thought we were working toward
everything we thought our children would be
all of that will soon come crashing
and we will hear that voice at the door
and surrender
finally, willingly, chillingly, in terror
to monstrous towering specters
who have taken upon themselves
the mantle of fate
furies who have kidnapped the gods and bent them to their will
and those hot, hellish, southern lands
will finally claim all that destiny has had in store
for them
and for us
for all of us
hold close what you love
keep close what you cherish
before the morning comes
with a blood-red dawn
and you hear those voices
outside your door
if you succumb to fear
they will have you
but if you hold fast
you can throw open that door
and see
there is nobody really there.
