Whispers in the surf, a skull at her feet.
Gently she looks over the charcoal plains.
Remorse fills her eyes, she kicks at the skull.
Turns on her feet, tiptoes away, silence.
The tide picks the bones, they drift away.
She feels nothing, she is already gone.

A fool sits and watches idly from his hill.
Unsure of the detail, but sensing their weight.
He sips at his drink, and lets it soak in.
A single tear shed, this will resonate.
A drop of blood bled, this will consume him.