In late spring or early summer
The annual invasion begins
As the maggots grow restless
The wings hatch from their skin
An imminent security breach
The airborne creature from within
The growing numbers accumulate
For a battle they seem to win
They penetrate the living quarters
From every access point they come
Their defiance of repeated warnings
The war machine will soon run
The war of the flies
We will fight until the end
The war battle cry
Massacre we will send
They gather at the front lines
Inside the walls of the garage
There they meet their timely death
With a swift swatting barrage
Their bodies litter the floor
From conventional warfare
The warning still not heeded
So the sticky traps will ensnare
At their level for all to see
The flies fall prey or leave
One by one they fall down
To their death on the ground
