In sickness and health they said
Yet all that one can perceive
Is a domain of death and disease
Flies and dust

Think quick on your feet
Tread the treacherous trails
Ridden with fox holes
Filled with vacant eyes

All houses are empty
And from the holes as branches
Rigid fingers reach out
They point at nothingness

We brought it all down
The fires and ashes
From green to black and brown
Here lies no catharsis