Cleansing fire; enormous pyre
they built and shore in days of yore.
Fanned by hatred, a need unsated
the count begins from ten to O...
Man the stations, restore the beacons,
now spread the word that may be heard:
To your bunkers go.
Dirt and stone are the only tools we
can shape and sculpt and cast--
dull blades digging out a sanctuary
to stop the atom's blast
that we unleashed in folly!
Our prison under grass
shall endure, evermore securely
till what's above is dust...
Fraying patience and hoarding rations
when countless souls all profess their need.
No use farming, the soil's still dying
its poison spread to the smallest seed.
Raid and pillage, although the village
shall burn away, at least we may
yet live another day
Dirt and stone are the spoils of victory;
the fruit for which we bled
in post-apocalyptic fancy
where fools and serpents led.
If not for this lone sturdy
stout bunker overhead
we'd be lost in the wake of hist'ry
our hubris thus repaid.
Leave a trace
that others who may go
questing and exploring
soon may come to know
how we came to ruin
swallowed by the deep--
mummified in bunkers
for eternal sleep!
Dirt and stone - such rewards await we
who set the earth alight!
Mere dirt; scoured by our glory,
its creatures put to flight!
Take heed, attend our story
of that which once was bright
but is now sullied by our victory
and toppled from its height.
Shambling horrors and creeping crawlers
engage explorers upon the land.
Barely audible clicks; formidable
creatures clad in form of man.
Crazed and terrible; inexorable
once they spy an intruder nigh
come whatever may
Dirt and stone are the weapons that we
shall seek to use in vain.
Though blunt; wielded inexpertly,
to crush and slice and maim.
An end unto our story
when clawed and snapped in twain
by the horde; clickers who are surely
all that will soon remain!
Fuel is dwindling and food is following--
Ours not to wonder why
some are flourishing, others weakening--
Ours just to do or die.
We; once honourable, shun the principle--
aid repay with a threat to slay;
keep the hordes at bay!
Dirt and stone in the future that we
anticipate shall soon
slay all; folk however doughty
succumb before the gloom,
entrapped in lightless slurry--
a claustrophobic womb
here at last draw conclusion clearly:
this bunker is our tomb.
From a trace,
stranger now you know
how a People mighty
came to wrack and woe--
Take on board the lesson
ere it be too late,
be on guard or one day
you could share our fate!
Dirt and stone - humbly we beseech thee:
bear witness to our plight--
reborn in the ashes that we
created from our spite
to scratch and claw and scurry
forsaken by the light
we assumed would forevermore be
inheritance and right.
Dirt and stone - such rewards await we
who set the earth alight!
Mere dirt; scoured by our glory,
its creatures put to flight!
Take heed, attend our story
of that which once was bright
but is now sullied by our victory
and toppled from its height.
