The Faroes still at it

135 long finned pilot whales
1 white sided dolphin
38 long finned pilot whales

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Slaying and destruction
Vivisection
They
The butchers of the Faroe islands
Abort in every way
Life forms
Gentle angels
A death blow every hour
A bloodlust and a massacre
Gladitorial and how

Its like an open knackers yard
A shambles so to say
Where evil gutless viking types
Sweep into the sea to pay
Their homicidal tendencies
Serial killing mobs
Gangsters under contract
To the evil darkly yobs

Killing lethal mortal fate
Sanguinary they be
Up to their shoulders in the ocean
Blood stained and gory
They poleaxe and they cut to ribbons
All the saintly crew
They cut their throats
And slash their heads
Its what these vikings do

Dead bodies floating everywhere
Despair in every eye
Lynched and truthfully strung up
Might somebody ask why
These fattened mortal felons
Genetic timebombs they
Throwbacks into history
Whose anguish gnaws away

Thrashing through the briney
Muddled and confused
Challenging awareness
The illiterate bemused
Airheads bloods and simpletons
Retards from before
Murdering these lovely souls
And turning them to gore

The folly of the moment
The mental deficiency
These faroes blooming islanders
Their oafishness we see
Their denseness and their inanity
Added and muddled they
Dim witted jugging muggins
The nincompoops who pay

A certain kind of lunacy
A variant some say
Braindead & dead from the neck up
Obsessed on any day
Covered in blood and intestines
The saliva of the soul
The imbecilc schizoid
Half crazed out of control
Blank minded and ear splitting
Their roughness everywhere
Humming and malodorous
And riddled with despair

And all this on the beaches
With the tidal waves in tow
And blue sky and the mountains
That seemingly just grow
Upwards through eternity
On the sand we feel
The suffocating energy
That truthfully is real

The dear departed angels
And in the netherworld
Collateral damage everywhere
The mythical were hurled
Into the fire and brimstone
Across the stygian shore
Where the fallen lost and dying
Lay harnessed to their core

Each sickly murdering retard
If met on a dark night
Would scare the souls out of their beds
Their face alone would fright
Psychopaths each one of them
Hatchet men they be
One moment bloodied butchers
With their children on their knee

All of them dr jeckels
Or are they mr hides
Casualties in many ways
Pandering the tides
Washing in the surf
The blood creams everywhere
Another sundrenched battlefield
For all,our eyes to share.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

*

HTML tags are not allowed.