The Mad Dogs Howl

The Mad Dogs Howl

The mad dogs howl, they dine on flesh,

Their feast is warm, their grip is fresh.

Through shattered doors and broken glass,

They hunt, they tear, they snarl, they pass.

A lonely cry, a gasping breath,

A city choked by running death.

Their laughter gurgles, wet and low,

A sound the dark alone will know.

The streets are dark, the night is long,

Their hunger drives the endless throng.

By morning light, the world will see

What beasts were loose and what must be.

Their footprints soak in pools of red,

The gutters choke on all things dead.

The howls fade out, but in their wake,

The night still screams , the rooftops shake.

No morning bells, no voices rise,

Just hollow homes with empty eyes.

A silence thick, a weighted dread.

The mad dogs feast, the town lies dead.

The sun climbs high, the sky turns pale,

Yet still there rides a phantom wail.

For though they’ve gone, the whispers grow.

The mad dogs howl. They still lie low.