The Feast

Upon the hollowed ground of death
Among the pillars of the night
Lies the souls of Satan's breath
As tattered wings take flight
Into the darkness heathens flee
To prey upon the ones who tread
Alone midst the glutton breed
Scattered there among the dead.
The talons rip the fleshy bones
As crimson wine drip from their lips
The cries and shrieks, a haunting tone
From leaches who in darkness slips.
No longer hungry, their thirst is quenched
The brood of Satan's children creep
Back into the darkened trench
Until once again, they have to feed.