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Doors crept open to the robotic hum, of cold Siberian wind, The same wind that carried the ash and soot, of burning towers pointed at the ground, and thundering pride Of a bygone era that never knew its day,
Two parts of me Clash at each other Fighting to be the very best To win over the other The race to space Or battle of government From the White House to the Red Square Uncle Sam versus Mother Russia
The crisp scent of forthcoming winter churns out suicide notes for the illiterate A slew of chirruping crickets leap into the mire, Their light corpses ripple 'Xs' in the water
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