Blood of the lamb

Double double, toil & trouble
A bedtime story for the boy in the bubble
He hears the children as they play in the rubble outside

Dunning kruger, coming intruder
His father drinks and feels the weight of the luger
Looks at his wife and wonders why he pursued her in hindsight

His mummy tells him stories from the plastic divide
Of all the horrors other people transmit
But a little bit of love is all you need when the whole world is sick

A sterile prison in a plastic cocoon
The neighbours’ sickness makes the planet unclean
Betray the needle and bow down to the womb
And let the ignorance pass down through the genes

Sometimes his mummy, she would break down and cry
And tell her husband they should just disappear
Last time they argued the boy almost died ‘cause he’s allergic to the salt of his tears

They speak in whispers in their room at night
And pace the floor as they go over their plan
Careful not to wake him lest they give him a fright
Alert the neighbours to the cry of the lamb

His father watches the child as he sleeps
And grips the pistol, it’s time for a purge
And he reminds himself it’s for the good of the herd

He’s getting sick of his toys, why can’t he go out and play?
Mummy tells him “be a good boy, ‘cause daddy’s going away”
The child watches as she slips out the room, and wonders if there’s more to being alive
They do not love him, they think they’re above him, and only give him just enough to survive

Mummy grinds the powder with a mortar and pestle, adds methylated spirits from the drawer
She sets the table, emotions unstable, holds back her tears and gets a knock on the door

His father’s lucky he’s immune to the sounds of the parents as they weep
And so he sneaks into their rooms and kills the children while they sleep

His mummy smiles politely while the neighbours sit across from her and sip on their tea
Blaming the government for the fate of her child and claiming science is a conspiracy

She tries to call them on their lies; says “That sounds funny, are you sure?“
But they just smile and roll their eyes; say “There’s no money in the cure”
And as their smiles start to fade, and their eyes bulge out from their heads
They spit out foam and look afraid, and choke on everything they said

Grieve for the amoeba
Curse the non-believers
Cleave all the deceivers
Nurse them through the fever

The lies they’ll try and weave you
These naive fucking people
Denial proven lethal
The vial and the needle

Why did you conceive them?
They’ll die, and then you’ll grieve them
Now you can’t retrieve them
So cry, you little divas

Preventable diseases
Rain down and then they eat us
Repent before the fetus
That’s bound by the prosthesis

There is no rhyme or reason
Sickness is the season
Pustules, boils and lesions
Coughing, soiled and wheezing

Reviled, their mind medieval
Exiled and soaked in diesel
Defiled by the measles
The child, blind and gleeful