A Forest (of Corpses)

Come closer and see, corpses-made trees whisper silent blame, deep-rooted shame. come closer and smell, odour of a dead end hell. wood plagued by smoke. piles of bodies stocked. can't you hear their voices
Calling your names, crying out their pains? seeded human remains. hear their voices, through the branches. maintained forest by the facist pest. hear their voices and start to run. frayed by ourselves and our instincts of death. all we left behind? a legacy of hate... it's always the same, again and again and again...