They came crashing in my door
Machine guns in my kitchen
Blasting blood onto the wall
Coming and fetching
The actively mobile and the poor
Boots in the throat-my-eyes
Rifle in the groin in my kitchen
Igniting flames in my legs, my insides
Retching and all the while fetching
The victims, the prisoners, the dead.
The shouting and swearing
As fierce as the sound of gunfire
Bellies split open smells gushing
The Shits on the Kitchen wall
Grinning dead head knives embed.
