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The tattered hair flies in the wind

Along with black demonic sins

The weary eyes see the sight

Of the dead and sleepless night

The putrid nose tries to smell

The monster that inside it dwells

The deafened ears strain to hear

The quick breath that comes with fear

The bleeding lips of the lost

Are covered in the winter frost

The swollen tongue tries to speak

But no sound does it leak

The desolate arms try to rise

In hope to catch a humane gaze

The fumbling hands try to grab

The knife out of the back they stabbed

The afflicted fingers try to scratch

At the wall, they’ve met their match

The unloved heart about to break

In its reprimanded state

The jilted legs try to run

From the cold vindictive gun

The ragged feet try to stand

Upon a sinking mound of sand

The marred toes poke out of the ground

Where they rest and make no sound

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