Dibs.

The voice that brought an empire to it's knees,
on tea, two sugars, a little milk.
It's spurred on like an unholy tempest,
Two palms together for an almighty thunder storm.

Ashes to ashes,
river to sea.
The voice; an empty vial.
Poison.
Over-advertising,
false advertising,
means nothing to them,
take off the shiny wrapping.


The voice that brought a village to despair,
on church, prayer, candles,
It brought with it flames of Rome,
two palms to the sky for that white-lightening tree.

Dust to dust,
Foundations to sand,
The flame of a few months.
A poison.
Nothing as addictive,
as a new brand of heroine,
I never saw it spark quite like that,
what shiny wrapping...

And when the war has been and gone,
lost friends and brothers in the ground,
Will you honestly say it was worth it
for all the days you forgot your own name?