The Aftermath (or, Ante-Megiddo) On the plains of Armageddon, the wind blows foul and dry, through the bones of countless millions singing silence to the sky. The smoke of smoldering soldiers' blackened bones pollutes the air, the playground is deserted now, the children wouldn't share. What there was before, I never saw, in what there is, I see it all. Though smoke will rise, no tears will fall, cause frozen history's slow to thaw. They didn't like the world green, for they would have it black, but they spilled some blood and stained it red, and none to put it back. A mass of life unite to fight, while commanders seek the caves, the flesh grows rank in the blist'ring sun, for dead men dig no graves What there was before, I never saw, in what there is, I've seen it all. Though smoke will rise, no tears will fall, cause frozen history's hard to thaw. The blood ran deep as a dead man's sleep, square miles of liquid life, the brave young men so sure of right, the dead young men so quiet... Silence is man's elegy, delivered by the wind, his life has come and gone again, but eternity has no end. What there was before, I never saw, in what there is, I see it all. Though smoke will rise, no tears will fall, cause frozen history never thaws. Maharimi Karotlovitch, 1977-1978