No Graves

The tree line
Disused footpaths
Mis-distributed leaves
Suspicious congruity
Hiding nothing beneath

Bodies line the backyards of better-beaten men
Grit ingrained in fingernails underneath their heads
Blood to fill their gullets drawn from weaker stomached friends
Competition finest
Never coming to an end

Boxes full of wage slaves shipped out then back again
Bourgeois bastard hypocrites devouring the dead
Gutless ghouls grinding bones to bread
And not a body left

Hidden trails of covered tracks winding back through history
Silenced cries of terror at what's become humanity
We dig no graves