Ill-fated
The Ill-fated
after the bombing
dead children everywhere
like an exploding dollmaker's
factory
Tomato sauce and noodles
a parade of the inhuman
Presidents are helpless
their country is helpless
while they slept
all power lost
A chorus arises, and songs
drown in thunder
We are the masters
we were the chosen
Cumulus clouds
will ask we see and hear
doomed humanity
Shivering, we wait for
the last bomb to drop
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