
Ring around the rosy,
skin dotted with open sores.
A pocket full of posy,
masks the smell of gore.
Ashes, ashes, they all fall,
dead on dusty ground.
Listen to scavengers call,
a hauntingly cold sound.
Young girls chant perverted words,
hands clutched in dizzying turns.
Not understanding what is heard,
stories of bodies burned.
Reflections in stagnate lakes,
sad ghosts that haunt dreams.
Singing songs for pasts sake,
words more than they seem.




3 old applause
