Pitiful the morsels for the feeding of the rats,
Dished out unemotionally by vicious little cats,
Like vermin, out the rats they come and scurry back to hide,
Whilst all the while the fat cats feast voraciously outside.
In the darkest corners of the high walled city streets,
The rank and rotten souls of human waste claw to compete,
Shuffling through the blackness with no light to shine the way,
Incarcerated minds that will not see the dawn of day.
But in these deepest caverns of the mountains made by man,
A foul and ancient evil weaves its spiteful master plan.
For in these fettered alleyways no man has power here,
The lost, condemned and damned are ruled by unrelenting fear.
The smog and putrefying air sits heavy all around,
As bodies of the weaker souls lie scattered on the ground.
For death does not discriminate amongst the cluttered throng,
His scythe of execution swipes erratically along.
The freezing air fast preserves the corpses of the fallen,
Their faces twisted painfully as death had overcome them.
The heavy snow, relentless in its everlasting fall,
A heaven sent salvation of a cold white burial.
Decrepit are the backs of those on which they choose to ride,
The carriers of power burrow in from the outside.
Driven by the ignorance of hosts on which they feed,
And through which they do multiply with each new tiny seed.
A weakened mind, a fickle thing, is easier to corrupt,
So quickly will the blisters form and rapidly erupt.
And further spread well scripted lies as fast as forest fires
Burning all that stay the path of mankind’s great desires.
For power comes at such a price; mans soul in which to sell,
No longer need you thirty coins to pass the gates of hell.
However on the cats there feeds the cunning little fleas,
Which unbeknownst to them do spread the vileness of disease.
So while the cats sit smugly by in utter self belief,
The swiftness of decay quickly rots them underneath.