True to form
The routine of loathing
They want more
They wanna pound on every door
There's a horde who feeds on bloodshed
Petty souls hellbent on battle evermore
A wake of vultures
Looking down on us like restaurants in a hope to eat again
They grow emboldened
And their eyes light up to focus on the most inflicted pain
There's a groan
Gnashed teeth and judging
Sign in bold
Your kind ain't welcome in this world
There's a horde who feeds on bloodshed
Petty souls hellbent on battle evermore
A wake of vultures
Looking down on us like restaurants in a hope to eat again
They wouldn't notice if the body they were feasting on was gold
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