Cones stopping, telling us not to go on.
Hands waving, insisting we move right along.
Red lights flashing, warning us somethings is wrong
Blood red spilling, I'm almost gone.
Virus spreading
Danger rising
Risk of Infection
Halting humanities direction
No cones will help keep the death toll right down
No hand waving do gooders will make it out of this town
Those red lights will burn out with no one to replace batteries
My blood has been spilled and nothing else matters
Wednesday, 7 March 2012
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