Blood-curdling is the screams. Dreadful is the unsightly grin. The foulest of stenches reeks from the heart. Drenched in nothing but filth. That bares the family sin.
Three times as sharp as an ill-bladed sword that rips through the dull threaded seems. To gut out the sinful wrongs of humanity's heartless deeds. So cringing is the pain that reaps the blood-spilled stain. And carries no more the disgusting gore of the wild dreams.
Scares are the blessings that fall from the sky. A drought has famished the earth. And turned ashes and dust to dust, with no wind to blow the new high of life to go on.