That city once had a name,
it used to be a battle song:
"Silencer, silencer, may we drink
from your sea of violent intent..."
from an infinite multitude
of individual wills, we stood
on a hill and opened fire,
we thought our sky needed to die,
so we airlifted every chemical
known to man—decades later it
still rains upon only us.
what's left of it we transport to market
in holy red wagons—you see,
we are the profiteers of blood.
the price we pay has its own sound.
the sound of our eventual extinction.