PROPHETS OF DEATH

Prophets of death rampaging
Across a blood-stained land,
Spreading death and mayhem
Across forests and desert sands.

No-one is immune to the evil
That these vipers gladly spread,
Nothing pleases them more
Than fields filled with the dead.

For money is their mistress
The only thing they care for,
Foul remunerations climb
When the death count soars.

Counting only dollars and cents
Never the cost in human lives,
Prophets of death are selling
Planes, and guns, and knives.

Let the innocent die in Hell
As long as their profits come,
Let blood fill streets and alleys
Yes, let the good die young.

The greenback is their only God
The only thing for which they lust,
While good men kill and be killed
Bleeding, dying, turning to dust.

Prophets of death are rejoicing
As millions of innocents die,
For nothing else really matters
As long as their profits fly high.

THE END
© Copyright 2022 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia