by Andy Balaam

This week I opened a drawer I've never opened before Inside it there is a whole country covered in forest, burned by fire Every living thing is rendered in black The details are perfect and silent A sick caricature sculpted by a demon Who knows everything about life except what it is Furious hell was here, but now even that is gone You ask me to prophesy over this country Anywhere else I could find some truth for Some pale white shoot from a tortured limb I look up to see the victorious warrior god king of this country Riding home drenched in his own blood Only asking me to speak the truth