We are dismembered
Membranes ripped apart at the seams
Seemingly fragmented
Whether it's meant to be only God knows.
Know that in flames we reside
Side by side our limbs rest in embers
Flesh burning
Ghosts of ground wars floating upon bones
Ectoplasm healing the wounds of the cases
In which their spirits used to lie.
Ay Dante,
Las bombas estan llamado.
These children of the beloved
And there animals as well
Welded towards the home of Hades
Residing upon the remains of wrists and knuckles
Twenty-eight bombers
Took to the sky in April
Leaving us and our bestial familiars to die
By our hands and their explosives
Then I take to the teaming of the rain
Awakening me from these horrors
Knowing that the events of Guernica
Could happen very soon domestically
And the hand that writes the poetry
That cries for mercy
Will be separated from the forearm
With pen still gripped.

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