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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