Locust on your crops
and plague on your people —
I hunger for your house to burn
and the ground to tilt
towards a hell welcoming
sizzling new members
to torment —
Woodlands without wanderers
— bliss!
I challenge a carnivorous cloud
to descend among the cow
-ards still standing, aimlessly
pissing their lives away
among the shrubberies
of tuppence pieces.
Woodlands without wanderers
— oh bliss!