May 12, 2009
Up from the depths,
They rise to the surface,
Preparing to feast,
Upon the weak and the tender.

They roar and they writhe,
Limbs whipping about;
A tangled contest,
For the right to feed.

Hungrier now,
They lash out in vain,
As the sea is colored,
With a red satin stain.

For some, time is short,
And their lives slip away,
As the victors cannot restrain,
Their ravenous jaws as they gorge.

The night is young,
The hunt has just begun.
The witching hour is now,
When Hell, over Earth, has won.

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