In Murder We Trust

Wrists bruised by the chains that tie,

Us to the burning stake while we wait to die,

We feel the burning as our skin is charred ash-black,

Like cheap, ageing leather it starts to crack,

The good, God-fearing people jeer in bloodlust,

Kill to please the authorities they are happy to trust,

Kill to cleanse the earth of 'sin',

The dark ages aren't over, they're just about to begin...


The End

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