Art of War

Lucifer’s impression of a battle-scarred night

Is a mirror of both opposite “line of sight”

Watched by a thousand wary eyes blinking

Underneath a multitude of stars winking

With our tears and blood, he drowns the land

Increasing his animosity that forces our hand

Reloading our ammo with fear and insanity

Sharpening our bayonets with his profanity

He plucks our mind with delusions of immortality

Stabbing the very heart of our own morality

He releases the blind dogs of chaos and rage

In a time of desperation and sheer outrage

Where our eyes begin to deepen like foxholes

A dark void from which we lose our very souls

An eerie feeding ground for the lord of the flies

A monumental piece for his composition of lies

Etched in a canvas made of charred human skin

An abomination which is the epitome of our sin

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