| A million shells like stones in sand | |
| The soil painted by severed hands | |
| Locusts breed in a child's skull | |
| A hallowed tank, rats in its hull | |
| Wars keep the vultures fed | |
| Friends and foes, all extinguished | |
| Mother Nature can't distinguish | |
| Between a killer and a priest | |
| Heroes are the victors butchers | |
| All their rapes and all their tortures | |
| Cleansed by rains of gold and years of rot | |
| The human god mirrors the human brain | |
| Pray for power and material gain | |
| So the rich die old, and the poor die shot | |
| An armed cadaver on a fleshless horse | |
| Father time knows no remorse | |
| For rifts of west and east | |
| So the scavengers feast | |
| A martyred saint's but a jackal's meal | |
| And for all man's pride and religious zeal | |
| Both the church and the whorehouse burned | |
| The flies, the ants, the carrion thrive | |
| Hornets die a ribcage hive | |
| And the world, the world still turns | |
| When all mankind tastes the earth | |
| Mother Nauture will give birth | |
| To another king of beasts | |
| And still the scavengers feast |
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