Riding the Static, Part III: Skeletal

[Dead. It's all dead.]

_______________

The world lies frozen 

At our feet.

Rusted monoliths

Stand watch.

The bones lie scattered

In the street.

Wrapped in burnt,

Decaying cloth.

Air echoes with

A deathly peace.

The empty roads

Are long un-crossed.

As we walk on,

Instruments scream:

"There's danger here,

Please don't proceed."

Nothing's here but

These machines,

Screaming signals

To our feeds.

On this harsh day,

Lonely shadows play:

The watermarks

Of a forgotten age.

Glowing decay

And burnt-out plague.

And mysterious vaults

Locked fore'r away.