We are barren husks,
on an apocalyptic horizon.
We built my cities from
spears of military destiny,
and exist in hollow shells.
My promise land is built in a day;
it will come without struggle.
It will resonate with pushed buttons.
No harem of virgins to slake thirsts;
only tumorous clouds and
endless vistas hallowed
by nuclear winter. The only survivors
are the skeletons in our closets.