They Are Cann¡bals

Greys and blues

Foes and fiends

Running altogether.



Crashing shatter

Fall down

‘Splatter’.



Crackling lights

Dark nights

Fall to a trip

Blood goes ‘drip’.



Cornered in a lot

They had a plot

Should have fought

We can sought.



Now not matter

Food on a platter

Can¡balls, they are.

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