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