The Howl

There is a human slaughterhouseUp on the hill, the road is redAnd those who ignoreAnd those who pretendIt does not existEnd up in its hallMy blood goes to workI hear the howlThere is a grove of bleached bonesWhere lupins vomit children's limbsTaking all their libertiesWith parts of human anatomyAnd in the hollow of a restless soulLies no remorse and no disgustEvery kill is clean and pureEvery thought is cleansed in growls, yeahThere is a grove of tortured formsWhere all is dark and deeds are foulAnd those who ignoreAnd those who pretendThat the howl is a jokeTheir children lie deadMy blood goes to workI hear the howlAnd then my blood just goes to workAnd then I hear the howl(There is a human slaughterhouseUp on the hillThe road is red)And then my blood just goes to workAnd then I hear the howl(And those who ignoreAnd those who pretendIt does not existEnd up in its hall)And then my blood just goes to workAnd then I hear the howlBlood just goes to workAnd then I hear the howlBlood just goes to workAnd then I hear the howlBlood just goes to workAnd then I hear the howlAnd then my blood just goes to workAnd then I hear the howl