Sunday Paper

half past ten
on a sunday
fucked paper in my hand
fuck you says the writer
you live in a God forsaken land

oh the killing it's abounding
better not check your mail
fucking buildings fall to pieces
on our spirit filled land

but in the end
dear reader
just when you thought your life was good
the paper that your reading
was bought with aborted blood

of what poor creature do you ask
look on page,
the very last

hello reader
when you finish this
dear page
your gonna die
your blood
the story
we crave

oh reader
look behind you
death is closing in

watch out
it's inevitable