The sky is ablaze with ash,
For I am having a clash.
My father is working in hell,
Not concerned with Earth's well.

And as I rise out of death to fix His mess,
Many humans will rise to atest.
I mean all well and wish to simply clean,
But there is far to much for me not be mean.

God cares little for what I do,
For humans all burn with a deadly hue.
And as I clean out the gutter,
All will cry in a hellish mutter.

Bodies will line the street as I see fit,
And Lucifer's work will get fuller by a bit.
Yet ash is simply an inconvience to Him,
But it loves to ask for God's penance.

Now I clean out ash,
As sin makes any human black.