on Bitter Monday the bomb fell
and the rain wept for the sheltering dead;
on Crying Tuesday the people turned to ashes,
the rain brought fever, and the mutant mothers prayed;
on Ash Wednesday the sky was clear,
once again the land began to live beneath the dust;
on Spring Thursday we took back our world,
and built a sun-altar for the mutant sacrifices;
Good Friday we rejoiced,
but a leaden voice dogged our progress;
on Saturday we reaped the harvest
and watched our leaders pound a lonely road to chaos;
Sunday our sons and daughters lay to generate mutations,
and the bomb fell again upon a living dead.
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