u/International_Tap413

We shoot at angels
We scavenge their bodies and steal their halos

We burn and burn and burn and burn
How can the world still turn
We kill and kill and kill and kill
The coldness of death, that old chill

Beware of falling angels
No, I never did fear the ranger
But war comes so suddenly
Brought on by politicians gluttony

We murder poor angels
We like to kill strangers
In Heaven, the Archangel
Brought forth by the rearranger

Charr the broken bones
Dying soldiers don’t go home
Chart the war zone
This world is a lie, we are all alone

Staying alone is real rough
The death weights upon us all
Pray to the graves of fallen seraphs
A decaying forestall 

Although they say war is warm
I find it to be quite cold
Guns are such a dirty creation
A genocide brought by a nation

Dear Sir, how have you been?
Are you doing better or are you still dim?

We have crossed the mud
The troops with families and deadly guns
They broke down the walls and burst into the tower
They went and burned all of the flowers

Dear Sir, I’m glad to say
That we took to the skies and laid wasted
No one lived to tell the tale
Murder pushed on a rail

Our army marched into the deep
And luckily, they murdered everyone
Men with families and newborn babies
They smiled as they killed the daisies

Oh Sir, you’re gonna be glad
That we’re making this world so bad
Aren’t you happy that we’re all murderers
In chains, the war heroes are clad

Bombs fall from the sky
Spilling blood across the beaches
They all just watched the men die
All politicians are leeches

So Dear Sir, you should be smiling
Look at what you’re leading this world to
You can start a war with your lying
What force are you

Dear Sir, aren’t you happy, you are slowly killing the world

An obscure of the road, brought upon by day’s dusk. Their body begins to fold, moving the vessel as thought it was nothing but a husk. What once reached out to hoot and howl, is now a sack of mess of bile and bones. And although the intention is rather foul, it’s home to think clear when you have no home. Driving on that thin line, built on a mind ill bind; the lights make them go blind, it’s almost about time. The lines smear out, a fractured glow. A pulse of light in ebb and flow. The rhythm stutters, bones go slack. A slipping sense they can’t pull back. The wheel hangs loose in trembling grip, a fading hold, a subtle slip. The world bends inward, tight and small, a narrowing, collapsing wall. “I am the fault in every frame. The spark that never held a flame. A list of wrongs that never ends. A weight no mercy ever mends.” The past erupts in jagged light, a thousand cuts in one long night. Each voice returns, each silence too, to carve the shape of something untrue. “I never knew what it felt like, to be with someone all night.” A sound erupting from the mind, making their already cloudy senses go blind. The lid turns with the sound of convection, diphenhydramine and doxylamine floating through their system. Another pill down the throat, another parasite biting at that hope. “Vision slightly blurry now, I’m sure it’s fine. Can’t tell up from down, like how I couldn’t say goodbye.” In the warm desert heat, the air only seems to bring sleep. “On this long, isolated road, no one will ever find me.” From people to places, they never quite fit. “From experiences to faces, I could only think when I took that steel and slit.” No matter what they did, they just never could seem to gleam. “I said what I said and you know what I mean.” An obscure of the road, brought upon by day’s dusk. The storm raging as the car gains speed, their will to live starting to decrease. “We’re always moving around, looking for something to hook onto, yet, this heavy silence of death is all I’m drawn to.” Wheel growing unsteady, that presence growing heavy. A cold part of a world where no one cares, the desire to die, is that quite fair. This lonely part of the world; “into depression, I was hurled.” So long to all of those who dream. “So long” they say, tearing at the seams. Beckoned to the doors of death, beckon by that of God’s breath. “The pills are making me sleepy now, who should I go on, how?” With the hands falling off of the wheel, the tires damn them with no chance to heal. Dirting off of the paved white lines, drifting away from the rumbling lie. Now asleep at the wheel, they can no longer feel. As the automobile zooms towards the last few telephone poles on the road, they know there’s no chance at going home. An obscure of the road, brought upon by day’s dusk; as they hit the force of death head-on, they have finally put an end towards all of what has been bleed.