They walk amongst the bone and the flesh and the screams unheard,
those eyes that watch their home burnt,
What is this chaos and what is this pain?
Where is this land where death and agony prevails?
Are we born to this womb of death?
The very placenta of love was cut and the innocence was left to bleed,
And they grew feeding on their own blood, that rotted and smelled of hate,
They devoured their own souls and was left in flesh,
Their hands deficient of human touch,
The heart now in brutal clutch,
The flesh of innocence now turns to soil,
On this will some pave the turnpike,
And the cycle and time someday revise.