Rotor wash stirs the desert
Only a shadow of myself
Coated in the grey powder that once was people
Gore splattered chassis are matted by acid rain
After touring the many mass graves reserved for children who were raped and shot in the head

Not even sharks offer up their own young
I want to hear you scream until it becomes the flat drone of tinnitus
Until the ground is Pollacked with your offal and blood
I want to see you leave this life screaming and find nothing afterwards

The air swells with a flat thrum
Glass shivers in it's panes
Now your house is ruins upon the ruins of Bamiyan's idolatry
Your history begins with your prophet, but it dies here with you
Templars of raven fly over, until there's only wasteland not even graves

Bleeding out the wounds to my heart seamed with razor wire
Make orphans a generation doped by lofting reefs of smoke
Riddle your graves with bullets and sink them into the desert
The last red shoulder on a sea of blood