The place called in the wild
Immortals of this world and the other.
Life,a mystery to them,
Unknown and unheard of.
To take it and consume,
are well written in their wiring.
Tears of blood they feast upon,
Who say are these vile creatures?
Creatures not a word to be used,
in the fear of loosing ones only valuable asset.
Corpses strewn over there and ever,
they merely walk the walk of death.
O’ say can you hear me,
Death would be the sweetest gift to be bestowed.