A dust hangs in the air,
Shreds of cloth fan through,
Among the bodies a withered old man,
Loud are his cries,
As he pounds against the floor,
Struggles to gain his feet,
Desperate coughs push from his lungs.
As ancient clouds form,
He crumbles to the ground,
Covered with mud,
Rain washes the place where he lay.
Enter a skeletal figure,
On bare knees and wrists,
Dressed in aged wrinkled skin,
She Crawls,
Whimpers to the aged man,
With drops of red,
Her body disjoints,
Crushed by the bells of light.
She continues to reason why,
The old man dies,
Another is thrown,
Continue is this rhythm,
And played with bodies of no name.
