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Friday, July 14, 2006

The Coming Storm

It starts off with a rumble as the edges of the sidewalk crumble
A weed may take a tumble but the bumble bees still sting

And the crowd of people seem to be thinner than your hair
As the parked cars' horn honks become louder in the air

The rumble turns to shakes and behind you comes the marching earthquakes
Their fangs are mashing along with parked cars crashing as their mass moves forward

They are tall monstruous brick house ogre beasts with death in their eyes
Their bellies aching for a feeding and your flesh is the prize

Cars become crushed metal like bike petals in a junkyard pile
The fang mashing giants edge closer like a storm with a smile

Your feet are brick and mortar along with the bent concrete mass
Lay down slowly, bleeding air from every pore and become transparent like glass

Before you know it, the world is succombed by this dirt smoked death blast
Rumbling like the tumbling teeth mashers amidst the emptiness mast

Everything grey black and full in it's emptiness as the blood train moves on

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