Shed men or Paid Assassins

These are not men
they can’t be
they cannot have hearts
for to do
the shocking work
on the sands on the snow
vile,vicious vandals in blue

suckling pups, tiny babies
crushed with their sticks
its goodbye
spilt open ripping their
poor little organs
exposing them now to the sky
a tangle of guts
and soul organs
thrown in a heap to create
the most evil stench
of resentment
someone above
closed their gate

sweet little eyes
closed around us
no more the sand
or the sea
these little darlings
were lost yes forever
murdered so mercilessly

These are not men
they just can’t be
not men with hearts
and with souls
not men who sleep
and who dream
and who weep
but men who sweep down
with long poles

how comes they dare
to work out in the air
hearing the sick silent screams
that tears at the truest emotions
and produces the vilest of dreams
disembowelled babies snivelling
shapes
in little pools of their own
blood it has run and dried in the sun
where the flies and their maggots
have grown

and who are the wholesalers
ready,
to take up the dried little skins
to ship them to China to Taiwan
wherever
and treat them and sell them
the sins
of the master, his bank rolls are growing
he walks with a stoop and he dares
to smile at the women who work
in his office
proud of his filthy affairs

and who are the women
and who are they really
who dream that a coat could be there’s
thousands of dollars for soft silky collars
and very few saying their prayers
vast sums of money are changing hands
quickly
bidding for tonnes of raw skin
the assassins get paid for their most grisly work
but their time on this earth’s wearing thin

Karma is close to their being
Cancer is waiting to see
they bend over bodies they’ve slaughtered
their backs cracked with pain instantly
they smell of an odour of dying
no soap clears the filth actually
its ingrained in their soul urge
and tissues
they murder for financial gain
shed men assassins a most evil breed
who have worms growing deep in their brain