it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
In the aftermath we see, what do we see?
A cloud has grown about our sight
A loud silence, where none agree
But nothing is actually said aright;
This city, made by hands of men
By the might of arm and wheel
Is set to night, is lost within
To begin again the senses reel;
While strength has saved the many maimed
A moral strength that still persists
The head at length, sickness has claimed
It forgets at all its body exists;
While those of us who yet read the book
Recall a loss of limb as well
Than to with wholeness to have to look
And breathe the everlasting smell;
The smell of death! But beyond the bay
We who watch from other lands
Remember anew, and recall the Day
And the City Not Made By Hands.


  1. Somehow these things always come out apocalyptic. It's like my vision - or the song itself - always reaches out to the end: death, eschaton, resurrection - these always feel like the ideas events, people and places suggest.


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