---

Progress, is a relative term, a lie we like to believe.

Chlorine gas, 1915, thousands decay to fertilize the seed.

A brand new plan, nostalgia trip, re-open graves and look at their contents.

A lesson learned we learn again, a cheaper way for our rage to be vent.

Open the cannisters, unleash the contents.

Variety of death at your command.

Decide on your preference, to choke, main or blind.

An endless choice of chemicals at hand.

What new scent will be blown our way, is it the smell of life or is it death?

When the winds of change blow across our and,

will we inhale it deep or hold our breath