They leave their base as the sun dips below the earth It's dusk as they take flightsquadron after squadronstealth coating,scolluped wings and pointy noses.Somewhere in the skythe squadrons separateand seperate again.With radar like accuracyeach individual finds its targeteach target...

interesting fate, fickle with her fandomsome eat richly while it is famine for othersmy bloodlust under controla hunter of souls, I'm chaste of visionmy scarred inner terrain, is incessant with its hungerdamned the horde, who urges me to feedcaustic...

Don't put your tootsies in, or swim in my jacuzzi and get your own Manischewitz,keeping the Citronella bug lights burning as I promote my tango, sideswiping Poeand the Keebler Elves...they don't know shit about decay and Annette Funicello,my muse...