by Nick Gisburne
Our bridges are the bones of broken men.
They stretch to straddle cold, collapsing skies.
Where waterfalls of blood are born again,
The armies of insane extinction rise.
From cities filled with parasites they pour,
A pestilence ten thousand nightmares wide.
Whatever brutal carnage came before
Was just a ripple. Now we see the tide.
The screeching horrors death does not destroy,
With misery and mutilating pain,
Are burned beneath us, whether beast or boy.
By sunrise only smoke and bones remain.
We force their shattered rabble to retreat,
But more will come, and more will find defeat.
