Rossomahaar — Moscow — The Sanguine Reign of Terror

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Easening, fore come the
Dreary images of gorgeous past.
Hectically they do breathe
… spitting blood.

Sobbing incontrollably
Mourning it’s own perished gripe
… the sanguine reign of terror
And millions of souls bereaved

Libertine and wicked
It stands proud and glorious
… yet the rot’s still visible
(Oh, it’s a bridal shroud!)
Taking over the roving grandeur.

Ecstatic in it’s failure
The insanity progresses,
Comes forth and forth and forth
… ending in harrowing perdition.

How many have been perished?
How many have been expelled?
… none shall be questioned
Noone shall be returned.

Clad in bones and unforgiving destiny
Filled with reek of heartless centuries
… colored in everlasting grey
With blood of innocents.

It burns, it rains, turning crimson red
Disengaging and monstrously enlarging
Consuming lives and devouring minds
… a city, the kingdom in itself.