There are hills of the harvested
Where the hero or the villain crawls
In the scowling, shadows of the fallen

He crawls to his livelihood of death
Of ammo belts, fields of fire
And white-hot tracers
That drum, wheeze and tear through the nights

A devil, or an angel lies prone
Hammered in place
For the screams of the void

First light races from the skies
Then crashes all around
In murdering, slugs and shards

And there before him are ghosts
Wading in hellfire
Tottering, from the red slit of dawn

And there they fall
Wide-eyed and afraid
Tumbling, into the mouth of the abyss
With fistfuls of life

“Finish them all”
Wave after wave
As the hot barrel quakes

“Finish them all”
Drowns out his old and sentimental ways
In a sea of shell casings

“Finish them all”
A crack from the trees
Then a flash of white
And the night rushes in