by Nick Gisburne
He grips the slender, sacrificial knife
The wickedness, the ritual, begins
A cut to bleed the essence of his life
The caustic, crimson poison from within
Appalling threads of venom, laced with pain
Drip thickly on the body of the child
And through its cries, that sickening refrain
He smiles to see such innocence defiled
So perfect in its purity, so young
Corrupted to a miserable core
The victim, bleached and blinded, stretched and hung
Engulfed by ancient malice, wretched, raw
The blood: a plague, an everlasting tide
A savage curse from which no heart may hide
