Cinders pile and settle like tormented plow lands
Stone pillars and synthetics crumble to make way
For monolithic creatures of black and red
The voices cry and the voices are afraid
As vapors reverberate throughout the abyss
Subtle hums of structures long gone still remain fixed
Mists of exhaust travel to and fro in waves
All who remain hear silence, and the silence makes them tremble
It has left many all fiercely astray
For it is Quiet On Mythical Monday