Some chose to run, many to hide
Inside their temples and rooms,
Where every one of them died
In incendiary tombs.
I walk in a mourning fog
Outside and inside my mind,
Hand in hand with Gog Magog
And all the rest of my kind.
What are these floods and fires
And stupidity admirers
(Viruses in a cracked petri jar)?
How can I fight the coming war
We’re already losing day by day
As we run, slower and slower, away?
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