The blood of the innocent,
the child, the saint,
drained out into the earth.
Their loved ones faint.
The souls of the soulless,
the damned, the cursed,
flows freely through hell.
Never satisfied thirst.
The hearts of the mortals,
the woman, the man,
ceased to pump blood.
But the bodies still ran.
The spirit of the world,
its death, its life,
seeps further into space.
The metaphorical knife.
The blood of the innocent,
flowing at noon.
But come midnight it's gone,
into the blood red moon.
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