Featherless flight, encapsulating oxygen;
hell-like fire is who I am:
a corporeal substance and
at dawn I am being born.
My atomic bombs are made of hopelessness;
naught they shall see in me but hatred.
Hail to my masters! I extend my mischievous hands
implanted by vicious men of the 1940s.
I wreck lives
to bits of their false hopes.
Schadenfreude is my pride.
I devour tears of men; clemency is a foe!
Strike it with such force
and satisfaction lies in the sound of my borborygmus.
I breathe vileness at the top of my lungs;
releasing toxic air, annihilating every bit of race.
As thick as the fumes
I create destiny.
Bent knees are their last resort as
they plead for mercy
reaching my brass-made hands.
Some touch my aflame horn, in return,
I bludgeon them with remorselessness
and I render unattainable salvation.
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