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It is us without bodies who blow in the wind,
And seek the warmth of your breathing organ,
There is no walking for our kind,
We swirl in the dust of your frantic adventures,
And settle on the muzzles that filter your air,
And secure your ravenous jaws from our occupancy,
Then you will sit smug inside your prison cell,
With your hysterical malice filling the void,
And listen to the plans to destroy our species,
From entering your already extinct urban wasteland,
And realize that this horror is your eternal fate.