Euthanasia

The clouds dispense their charity,

The heavens let loose the flood.

Trying to cleanse this foul disease,

To clear away the blood.

...

The city will never see the sun,

Not now, or again.

All that's left is euthanasia,

To put it out of pain.

...

From bodies lying on the roads,

To fires burning high.

To those that still wander blindly,

Proof that not all die.

...

Broken windows, battered doors,

To fences splattered red.

Echoes of the living falling,

To hordes of the undead.

...

To streets filled with vehicles,

To trampled barricades.

The victors continue their slow stumble,

An undead parade.

...

Buildings stand like silent sentinels,

Or perhaps tombstones.

Not even they shall escape the fire,

That will silence undead groans.

...

The fire comes, the city screams,

Like it's done before.

But thanks to this final judgement,

It will scream no more.