Launched into orbit, like a spire of doom.
Like Shakespeare riding a nuclear broom.
Hark, what mushroom cloud through yonder window breaks.
Living in holes and dining on snakes.
People with ash instead of skin, and yellow eyes of fever within.
A face not pale but reddend hue, and languish on harrolds that already knew.
Spat in dust of sulphur and bones, cry havoc and gnash those wiser tones.
Pear shaped emotions and sliding our course, a people of covenant with the pale ridden horse.
Stomping in dirt that once was our mothers, laid to rest with our sisters and brothers.
Our fathers are gone, they pilot the spears, an impact of horror that bled through our ears.
With the push of a button the skies were alight, death tolls the damnable night.
Launched into orbit like a spire of doom, like Shakespeare riding a nuclear broom.
