a person died,
ten relatives moaned and cried
remembered for the last time ten years ago
his ashes circled the world many times though
millions died,
as hoards grow in dens of dragons
mythical beasts from old times
they were hiding all the time among us
billions died,
almost end for the spices
world even stop for a second, always turning
a scar so big, yet we are always forgetting
we all died, except for one
on top of the tower made of cash, blood and gun
the first survivor who doesn't need to live
last to die, no witness, nothing to give
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