The Fallen Ones

Those rich men and their money bags
They want to see us all in rags
Whilst they enjoy the world they’ve stolen
The poor sit there with bellies swollen
And now it’s time, they’ve made their move
They think we have no choice to choose
Spreading fear, pain and death
They pressure us with every breath
And offer up their poison potion
To make us sink in hells dark ocean
Not saying why, they hate us so
They tell us that we’ll have to go
'It’s not your world', they state it clear
And, 'your departure time is near;
Our bloodline is the purist known
With purpose just to kill and own’
That’s why they all soak up and revel
In every thought, spawned by the Devil

© Steve Bentley