Like thine heart,
Lost to the winter,
Dead to the summer,
Your faceless soul to be extinguished,
Your bleached blood to be used,
Your name made of ashes and dust to vanish,
Is life but a game,
A story, a song to you?
You sing, play and break our- hearts, souls, bodies and our families.
Art thou entertained with our suffering?
You black eyed monster; do you feel nothing?
Leave us savages to our devices,
To our self inflicted pain and suffering.