I looked through the window and saw bellowing fires

******-soaked remains of my city choke the air-victims of new empires

During all conflicts of human history, death is the favored solution

Lead chiefly by ruthless automatons immune to moral dissolution

This vestige of a world is one born from dust and brimstone

I am now merely memories made of ash, agonizing the past with bitter groans

In this state of reflection, I thanked Him, for my sense of hope never retires

That is, until I looked through the window and saw bellowing fires