Misery Index

At dawn he rides, the fleet sets sail, the tanks will roll, when Mars screams,
Across the world, our children wake, abandoned offspring, writhing there,
Choked by the hidden hand of God,
The swansong is on his lips, an albatross hangs from his red neck,
The doves are dead, the hawks are free, to propagate the burdens of empire,
What eyes have seen the world,
From well-worn knees,
Where corpses lay at soldier's feet,
Conquistadors – God Speed!
The Prophet and the angel,
Inside his oval lair,
She whispers to his empty head,
"Conquistador... war is peace",
As infidels in Eden's garden... we'll tear out the serpent's eyes,
"A class filth infested, the heathen of the Holy Land –
We'll trample, stomp, and segregate them