A silence fell upon the city,

contorted shadows twisting moonlight.

Stuttering in a speakeasy seemed so misplaced

bottles rattled flickering like Fedora feathers

in an unforgiving wind.

The wretched odour of deprivation

a stench that sticks and degrades ones existence.

Even by day this city remains a lifeless sap

and by night the vampires feast on their misery

with fangs laced with cowardly acceptance.

The witch may be dead,

but her minions have amassed an army.

Fill the streets with peasants, proles, and protesters.

Are you ready for war?