Among the calls for silence, whizzing leaks of gas, broken statues, splinters and a sorry a** someone with a badly ruined day. Nails already start to rust. Just like the sun behind all that bloody smoke. Goddamn. It is not just smoke. It is a camouflage of our fear. Of each other. Who are strangers. Who are evil. In reaction, streets are covered in glimmering gla**, again. Crap only deeper, again. Only, we cannot see it through the smoke.
The smoke is more than the day's breath
Like a cloak to hide our depth of fear
Are we waiting for that first blast
For pieces of gla** to ring on the street?