The night our lives had changed, a moment brings
              quiet solace; a nation with warm tears.
              Darkness enveloped my original
              perception they had given to the soul.
              Considerable metamorphosis
              just beneath synthetic brow to false chin.
              Ignominy of this society
              oblivious to what they are dying from.
              Peculiar, quaint immunity among
              a humoured group of individuals.
              All we could do, found years ahead, amongst
              a littered mass of plain, dying country.
              Now, heinous battles are fought; tears are shed;
              albeit nothing ends while the pain could stay.
              A skirmish useless to collect support.