S.O.S. (Season Of Sickness)

A new season dawns over narrowed horizons,
It’s colours are twisted with fear and detest.
A chill fills the air that’s tainted with sickness,
breath in the mourning and civil unrest.

Writ on the walls bearing news of misfortune,
Blood on the hands of those disobeyed.
Tears in the eyes of the wise and the wretch,
alone with their thoughts, on a cold Christmas day.

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