The warring years of detonation,
Ambulance sirens and church bells

The cycles of fire and ice, almost
Like the ice ages and the burning epochs

And on top of a chess board
Lies a pawn that can march forward

On a battle field, to be destocked, derailed
Even when there is enough coal in his engine

To run the whole course,
To the misty foothills of the twilight zone.

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