The Dogs Are Hungry
You’ve beaten me, ripped my flesh to the bone,
and you’ve burnt me in your holy fires
But what’s left of this mortal coil
still hangs precariously on the threads of vengeance,
and an insatiable blood lust
I’ll return one day
My tomahawk brighter, freshly sharpened,
casting long shadows as it darkens with crimson
Many more will follow
These hills echo with the news of the fallen and oppressed
Your antiquated fables of eternal damnation
are beginning to fall on educated, enlightened ears
Like a monstrous black storm that passes by
dropping only a few subtle tears of rain
Send your men; they will die
Barricade your institutions; they will be brought down
Run; and I’ll find you
The dogs are always hungry in the twilight
Horror Sleaze Trash 