Forget what I was told, all those years ago;
the tone of everything, that I had seen the strangest.
It's all changed now. Reality is overthrown.
Forget what you said--there's no way you could have known.
Even now the broken strings are tightening about them.
Marionettes where people once lived. I wondered,
for a moment or two, if it wasn't my fault. It was; now send
me away. "Vermin." You should realize: this is the end.
They march past, dead as the street itself.
I watch as my father goes by. Such insanity:
a walking sepulchre, gleaming with impossible wealth;
built on the bones of the fallen. There are no thoughts for health.
Walking out into the streets, dust-demons with each footstep.
Their eyes are blank, their hearts already stopped.
What force keeps them going, drives them onward? (Kept
silent. I couldn't dare to speak.) My wandering family slept.
Charade without a puppetmaster. How tired...
I wonder if they realize their strings have been cut?
Heartless mannequins, one and all.
Still kept silent.