She's down and all on board are lost
in a country full of hate.
Unnamed bodies lie and rot,
victims of collateral shame.
Like blackbirds pulling worms from lawns,
they pick possessions over,
voiding evidence, spoiling, looting,
while dead voices scream dishonour.
The freedom to fight for your side
or just to fight another tribe.
Fingers pointing, picking fault,
while expert pickers are deterred.
Newsmen gather every word.
— The End —