Beneath the calm of rolling silver
We swell at the might of soaring deliverance
As they pummel eastward
Maiming the roads
Carving, its fiery and murderous path

Hail to salvos
That pummel the wicked
Its footprints marring the hellish front
Through grizzly craters we skewer their sons
As asked  before
And the many weeks past

We greet the falling whistle of malice
The scourge of our hasty and quivering rest
How it breeds the stench of brotherly demise
Urging the mad
To dash for eternity

They are
Torn by panic,
And riddled by scalding, vagrant shrapnel

The fever of hatred spills
Whirling within the cold and lonely wisp
It is garnished only, with the ambiance of our toil
Hatefully, glinting, well into our silent fall