Smoke from burning tires darkens a bleak sky
Fires, left from exploding bombs, glow in the distance
American soldiers, camouflage clad and armed
Move house-to-house searching for terrorist gunmen
Thirty-one hundred and counting as skies darken
And another night falls upon the stench of burning flesh
Mingling with the sickening rot of human decomposition
Flies, thick and black, swarm in masses lighting to feed
At death’s sticky table; buzzing incessantly, watching
As the darkness covers blanketing all in evil’s dour shroud
The beginning of sorrows… its trumpet sound nearing
All nations one day closer to the bidding of the grotesque
Formalities aligned, black suit neatly pressed, and smiling
The Wicked One will for a spell rule the Earth relentlessly
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