The flaming tongues of Asphodel
lick the tangy streets
leaving buildings glittering
in the drowning sunshine's light
darkness snuffing out candlesticks
with its sooty fingertips

Down below in the shimmering streets
a lonely old beggar is loosing his teeth
making a deal with Hades' right hand
wrapped in the post day's forgotten reprimand
opens his mouth
with one raspy breath

All that glitters is not gold
cries the beggar to the deserted streets
when tainted with the factory smoke
it's not gold when you must lose your young
when it takes your life away!

As the man below was rendered dead
a girl called Hope regained her breath
flew to the Sun and tapped its shell
relieving the city from its personal hell.