Mud

Blood Blood Blood.

After a while it just feels like mud.

The corpse drags you down as well,

Shlop shlop walking through the blood.

The blood that just feels like mud.

Killing and murder are not the same,

Only the dead think both are lame.

Murder is fun filled with joy,

While killing is a bore,

Almost like the milk of soy.

I just murdered the man I now wield,

Like a sack of potatoes,

Right after a very good yield.

I bury him in the mud,

In our mother earth,

Which I feed with his blood.