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In sickness and health they said

Yet all that one can perceive

Is a domain of death and disease

Flies and dust

Think quick on your feet

Tread the treacherous trails

Ridden with fox holes

Filled with vacant eyes

All houses are empty

And from the holes as branches

Rigid fingers reach out

They point at nothingness

We brought it all down

The fires and ashes

From green to black and brown

Here lies no catharsis