The air is charged and ominous,
A stench is settling on us,
Like ashes on our skin.
How did this begin?

Bones held in hands
Took foreign lands;
Fires on sticks
Extinquished the magic
That once held us in awe.

Then the sky's truly lit,
They've fired bigger sticks
From beneath the waves,
Into the air,
Or silos hidden
Below the stars,
With candles brighter than before,
That darken skies,
Turn day to night,
And colour our skin
With ashes.