Kingdom of Shame

Bowl lament in slippered rooms,
Falling soot and tubes of clay,
Pinhole sparks of burning smiles,
Resting against the metal cage.
The history of this closing day,
Scratched out in sheets of grey despair,
With images of death remote
And weeping widows pointless plea.
The buttered morsels of our night,
Mixed with the sweetness of our wealth,
Now hide the horror we endorse
And wipe our minds of the guilt we share
Climbing to our innocent beds,
We wash our hands before the dawn