It is what it was,
But it becomes what it wasn’t.
In a desserted town,
Newnewss comes from within.
It definiely isn’t what it was,
It will never be what it was.
In reflections we see the image
We fear the most.
It was not intended this way,
But now it will only be understood this way.
Colonnades protrude good intensions,
Camouflage forgives misinterpretations.
It is what it is,
It can’t be what it isn’t.
The tomb is already set in stone.
In a crate his skeleton will stay.