Everyone Is Dead

What a horrid sight.

Bodies borrowing depraved looks from a gun's worst disguises.
Smokestacks rising holy hands from the purified fire to the satisfied sky.
Abandoned buildings crumble like elders reveling in the shame.
They don't know what "let the execution begin!" means,
Just the taste of brains smacked against their lips when it's heard.
Everyone is dead.

Red and gray pillars of ash decorate the sides of the streets
Not occupied by the recently deceased.
It's a startling contradiction of concrete and song that
Make up the urban graveyard battled.
This town is now a talentless gypsy:
Little of anything of use in the catacomb of swells.
Everyone is dead.

All voices have been silenced by the shackles of mortality
he barren disagreeing territories plant choirs of death knells,
The feeble and the meek, as fodder.
Aromatic sirens taste like bitter pacifiers for the ground.
The rhythm of the earth shakes out
Blaring sonatas churning sickled defeat.
Rhythm profits.
Death howls begging, begging, begging.
Everyone is dead.