11-26-2013, 06:07 AM
Desolated streets with wagon tracks;
No people.
Empty stalls with scattered wares;
Run people.
Ashen skinned plaque prophecied;
Dead people.
Turning from the city gate he flees;
Into the night.
A bedroll strapped to his pack
Is thrown down, unrolled,
And in the underbrush he settles.
Visions of rotting city streets;
of great cities and great men fallen.
People that lie covered by reapers
of buzzard fleshed demons.
These thoughts come to him as
clouds of human ashes falling from the sky.
Horrors mix with suffocating odors as
he falls fitfully asleep:
Oh city of mine, oh home of mine.
Will it be okay this time?
These half starved dreamscape vagrants disagree and gather at town square to burn it down.
It shall end this time,
This world of mine.
It will burn this time,
This world of mine.
No people.
Empty stalls with scattered wares;
Run people.
Ashen skinned plaque prophecied;
Dead people.
Turning from the city gate he flees;
Into the night.
A bedroll strapped to his pack
Is thrown down, unrolled,
And in the underbrush he settles.
Visions of rotting city streets;
of great cities and great men fallen.
People that lie covered by reapers
of buzzard fleshed demons.
These thoughts come to him as
clouds of human ashes falling from the sky.
Horrors mix with suffocating odors as
he falls fitfully asleep:
Oh city of mine, oh home of mine.
Will it be okay this time?
These half starved dreamscape vagrants disagree and gather at town square to burn it down.
It shall end this time,
This world of mine.
It will burn this time,
This world of mine.