Our memories are growing short
|Traveling through the death littered valley
We come upon a trail;
Caked with blood
From a time long forgotten
I follow the calling
Mystery of the past.
Further along the trail,
The blood splotches increase.
The red colour intensifies
With the glow of the fire ahead,
I feel its warmth on my face,
Paled with fright.
As I approach the fire, I see
The slain shells of innocent beings
Laying limp around and within the fire.
Their faces look as though terror
Is permanently painted on them.
The smell of burning flesh reaches me
And I see the bodies withering away into ashes
To be kicked aside and forgotten.
Standing in a pool of blood and ashes
I feel myself begin to melt down
Into the heat of the flames;
Becoming another memory
To be pushed aside.