A thick, musky haze - clouds of
   obsidian - took claim to the city,
   it was a gift from mother, a debt paid
   for all the efforts her children
   gave to reach her demise,

   it was a nasty smell, one to end
   summer and spring, but to them, it
   was the smell of victory, for mother
   had died and the world was left
   for us to ruin as we please.