Bloody Empty Twirling Veins

We all squelch out and raise out blooded wings

we tell our tale of four misdeeds

we once held true our love for fight: blood, revenge, malice

Then we fell into hands
hands that could wring the world with us

these hands were fierce
they could hold booming forces and intricate designs
they made for us the hatred
seethed into fate

with gauche we made the first strike
and with practice they bled in our hands

The grass went plashy with innards leaking out
blype like confetti against the ground

with alacrity we continue, thirsty for the feed
the tightening of veins in fear
only to release those of our foes

The smell of them rotting makes us sick
but we stand there
we breathe it in until the air goes balmy

Second we lick it up

Third we dance with the empty veins

Fourth we tell you