Hotter than hell is their playground.

Beneath layers of rocks and dirt.

They wait for their day of salvation.

When they can ride in the storm.

They grow impatient for the invasion.

The end of life as we know it.

I can hear their cries blowing in the wind.

The whispers brought forth from below.

It’s time for us to gather ammunition.

Before our poor town is nothing at all.


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