Mixed Media on wood, ready to hang.

Signed on the front.

.....
And the voice in the dark whispered, "the monsters are here."
Not in small number they grow by the year,
Whether ratty or boars do much scurry in haste,
Eyes held by that black glowing sun in their hands.
Goose-steppers by day and quick roaches by night
Do they dance to the tune of Sudrathara's hand,
That billion-man march, the procession of doom.

"The monsters are here," it whispers again,
My horror now deep as I see that it's true.
More of them yet, these listing frigates
Crew gone,
Wandering traffic like tomorrow's roadkill they be,
Eyes still fixed on that bloody black sun.

"The monsters are here," they've barged holes in the door,
Leave not no-one standing they claim by the score.
A table for two yet no words do they say,
Tongues eaten by worms and the bomb in the brain,
Has gone off and now sits there a hollowed out core,
That's filled by the monster that let through the door.

The monsters do bay for heads and too hearts,
And hands that won't yield to that bloody black sun,
Ten thousand friends yet will not leave it's room,
That hijacker that stole the Achille Lauro.
Whether his brain or hers or their hearts and their hands,
It sails the blue sea with a list of demands.
It's always the same and it finishes too,
With lives hollowed out by that bloody black sun.
"I am the Master," the Hertz-beast in hand says,
As it flashes at ninety Hertz cycles all day.
"I am the one," said the monster that's here,
"That bloody black sun that has hollowed your brain."