There are some pastures
where the moon won't shine.
The path strays
and there's no light.
The smoke puffs up
in the scorching heat.
The charred ground
bellows ominously under my feet.
Blood spattered
is singeing the soil.
The sky so dark,
looks murky and foul.
The hell's empty and
the devils wander free.
With their bloodshot eyes
they look at me.
I see them dragging
the charred remains.
And the bits of those
who have no names.
Oh dear lord!
is this the human mind,
Is this what's left of
Good and Kind?
Cracking bones
and burning flesh.
Why thou left us,
in this mess?
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