Tank Tread Bloodbath

Backed in a corner, nothing they can do

This tired bunker is their last stand

They tried to harass enemy forces

But a tank saw them

Now these specialists are prey

In the grasslands it chased them like dogs

The lieutenant was killed

by its frantic machine gun

Fighting back was in vain

With bullets like spitwads bouncing off the hide

They hid in the forest but it mowed down the trees

And the main gun turned Private Lawton to paste

Bullet streaks and scorched earth fueled their retreat

But it trailed them like a black hound of hell

Hungry for blood

Rifles in the hull got Carson's blood

Swivel machine gun ripped out his throat

They stepped on mines when they ran

And left their best friends screaming with no legs

Destined to die in a forsaken field

Now they cower in the dark

And it rolls over the hill, still approaching

Out of ammo but relentless to the core

They shoot every gun and throw their grenades

But it bursts through the wall like a stampede of rhinos

A bloodthirsty triceratops crunching their spines

The fetid stench of oil and grease, the insistent squeaking

Always following, nipping at the heels

Compressing ribs to mulch

Grinding nerves to slithering trails

Tracking blood is all in a day's work