Nineteen aliens’ hostage in the basement of a white house—
Not to include seventy eight slumped in the corner with bullets in their
brains—
Watching politicians faces mutate while playing Russian roulette in
exchange for top secret documents—
Beneath the razor wire murderous criminals roam numerous
continents—
A mortar made my insides fall out—
Through all of the blood and dirt, it looks like my spleen—
20 degrees south, 5 human heads rot, mounds of maggots crawl through
eye sockets, displaying a brutal portrayal of human emotion—
Witch would you prefer a handbag or a handgun
Some one is making their way in and out of convenience stores—
Poking needle holes through condom boxes—
How much do you think their paying those scientists—?
Keep me coming up negative with a cure for aids—
Population control—
An eerie figure with ten thousand syringes stuck in him—
Drifting through gun smoke, remaining in the shadows—
We perform oral sex on social whores as they spread viruses through a
constricted lifestyle—
Feel your brain spill out as the pavement cracks your skull wide open—
Magnificent shades of yellow and orange—
Countless bodies frantically searching for weaponry—
As cadavers explode all around us—
Tanks crushing over human remains—
A corpse lined with explosives—
A young baby devastated—ammunition ripping through their parents
flesh—
Covered in blood, she wonder’s of her future—
