Hide my face, my geatures of pain

Is there any point of having a name

I stare in front, I see only red

As I lay here upon my death bed



Cut, gut, beaten, eaten



The cannibals feast upon my innards

Using bark to eat their dinner

Moist muscle, inner bile

Handfuls of viscera

Being eaten in piles



Eaten

Cut, gut, beaten, eaten



A half eaten carcass

soaked in blood

Rotting in the heat, and mud

Cavity wounds, Gaping holes

I'm left disregarded by

these cannibal trolls