Hymn Of Destruction

I’m pleased with your misery

I hate the singing aves
well, no place to fly they have
children dead
in your hopeless arms

whores dancing
at the edges of volcanos
rape themselves
with symbols of every faith

non-existing god
is mixing clay of world
hidden dictators are trying to pay
with millions blindmen out

it’s a most decorous quality of time
to sing the hymn of destruction out