Swift night dancers
Party in the dark hours
Pop-Pop-Pop
As we, drummers, beat harder
Winged, tiny stress givers
We clap you to see our blood splatter
Your head equipped with needles better
For total, unstopped murder
Dressed in the covers of nights
Tiny self-driving jets
Ancient pilots of death
That disappears from light
Ancient army of annihilation
Continue affliction upon us, come
A perfect dance of fast rhythm
Feast till it is dawn
Humming mercilessly in our ears
Giving us sickness that makes us cold
Burning with fever,
A heavy load
Poverty does burn
Life has punishing teeth
Our hearts get sad
As they attack.
Authored by Moses Courage Lux Greatness Saywrayne
Featured Picture by Unsplashed
