12 September 2011



The murderous little bastards

Which infest your mind like cancers

Are the spawn of your aspirations

The broken and twisted chimeras

That dance to unheard music

Blown through empty horns

Forming the nightmare patterns

Of your dreaded mortality

How terribly mundane

They turned out to be

The print that was once indistinct

Is now etched clearly on your forehead

The mark of the beast reads “FODDER”

You are meat for the machine

As a boy you cowered beneath the sheets

Frightened by imagined spectres

In the unholy mystery of darkness

Now you know that the real monsters

Can only be seen in the light

Are reflected in mirrors

And in the ache of defeat

But don’t take it too hard

You were only a man