Mustard Gas

Here they are; the wicked.
A panic floods the field.
Deliverance; unthinkable.

The play their part, performing oh so well...

with empty cores they carry on
a twisted soul
an apparition
Born of a beastly brand
they butcher purposely.

Just have the sense to run away

Scream to the sky;
beg for a reason he would allow this.
Look to the sky and say;
we would be better off without this.

We've never felt alive
but none of us can die
just when we want to.

We're stuck in this disguise
this leather skin; with eyes
designed to haunt you.

Do we haunt you?

You're on the other side.