• So wickedly evil
    A death that is violent
    Blood growing in pools
    Screams that are not silent

    The clotting of blood
    The rusty foul smell
    The souls leaving bodies
    Now just empty shells

    A saw sounds the evening
    Cutting through the hard bone
    Limbs fly through the air
    As they were being thrown

    Speeding through the country
    The little small dirt roads
    He drives to a forest to
    Stop and to unload

    A shovel is thrust
    Into moist soft ground
    At least six feet deep
    The bodies never found.