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Existence of this kind is a problem

Requiring non-standard solution

Land is ashamed of this abomination

And wants to devour it once and for all

Inoculation against parasites

Gave negative result

Even nature repels the chemical binding

But disgusting hands crawls

They want to touch the forbidden

But they don’t know what to do with it

Hands are torn from the livid body

Pressed with impossible burden

They scream about availability of teeth

But there are only stumps

Nerves in these stumps ache

They are full of pus

Awful reek hovers like a cloud

Survival owing to bullshit

The blessed ones sing their songs

Raise their hands to the sky

Wipe vomit after the sons of bitches

Rub it in their faces

Endless circle for fucking morons

Tomb, as a way out, for the others