When night drew in and strangers near,
A rumor rang; their presence here.
Suspicion taut, guilt deep in mind,
We crowded the road, afraid what we'd find.
"Come now, neighbor, toss out your swine!"
In a town of murd'ers and thieves and whores,
Little was as troubling as a men of the Lord;
We desired their slaughter, spear through their skin,
But terror to sadism, a more torturous sin;
Our fear hid with night where the chaos begin.
Rape, we thus chanted, cries born in the black,
Hand over the angles – you want get them back.
But Lot quivered and plead, mistaking our eyes
For lust as opposed to the angels' demise;
Such an innocent man – ne'er too sage nor too wise.
In a last weeping bow, he offered himself,
His wife, his two daughters, the height of his wealth.
We drew out our knives and then made for the door,
But the angles swept him inside, and blinded the war.
Home we then traveled, bitter and sore.
In a manner of seconds the streets lit ablaze.
Gas filled the air; we fell into haze;
We stumbled, tripped, flew o'er fire and stone.
My flesh burned away, laid my eyes on my bone.
And fell to the ground in a staggering moan.
The victors own the tale; keep it safe, keep it home.
