There are waves of smoke from the fires
As a plague slaughtered the ill and elders
The sickly smell as the dead face the pyre
The smoke was thick, smelling like death
By the end plagues killed more than wars
A truth of war, it will kill more than lives
In solemn memories of a better day, lost
As the weak are to be fed into machines
Devoured for not being able, as the cost
Existence is less a tale woven, artifacts
No way to escape and no way to survive
Life not keen to bargain, who's left alive
Everything will be lost in time
