protest day: In the land of foreboding

In the land of foreboding
Where eagles fly
And little black taxis
Go driving by
In the sleet and the lightning
And the fires that glow
From the little villages
That burn in the snow
And the shadowed remains
Of what’s left of men
Cover the streets
And are washed down the drains

And lined up on the fences
That smoke in the heat
A thick cloud of vultures
With sores on their feet
And the red moon is rising
In the stumps of a wood
In the land of foreboding
Drenched in man’s blood

In the land of victory
The people are poor
All of their money
Was spent on the war
The ambulances glide
The fire engines are ringing
So, who was the victor
In the land of foreboding

Author: blackbird212012

I am interested in multimedia work: songwriting, art, and creative writing. I have been involved also in theatre and music performances. View all posts by blackbird212012