Elektra and time-twister, hear my distant cry
out of past beneath Apocalypse waste sand of a land which almost died
of spirit-traps and ancient vampires
transmogrifying life to bitterness.
Of a world where precious love
is sold for plastic and piss.
The streets flow with human flesh, churning in black ichor oil
drowning in sludge, choking on burning rags
Some of our brightest work in the streets
- paladins covered in filth, sifting through garbage
for lost love lights
- healers and caretakers of refugees cast as defects from
towering factory mechanical spires
The City burns a crown of a billion lights, each a bri