Burning. Stuck. Need Feedback. Plz&thx
Oct 9, 2011 21:46:13 GMT -5
Post by Delphin on Oct 9, 2011 21:46:13 GMT -5
Disclaimer: Song credit- Hollywood Undead 'City'
Hunger Games belongs to SCollins, we all know.
President Snow looks out the window, snakelike eyes narrowed at the dark horizon. He cannot see the smoke from here, nor can he see the orange glow licking away at District 12.
He doesn’t have to.
The lights of the city swing against the dark landscape below him, and he looks down at it, a bloody smile twisting his lips. The scent of roses brushes the air as he sits, swirling and dancing like a poisonous summer breeze.
From his large-windowed office, Snow can watch over his city, his people- his conquest. And he could hear the screams of terror as fire burned though lives and homes and wrecked havoc where he commanded, because even fire is under his control.
Control. It felt nice.
He mulls over his thoughts, the present problem at hand wasn’t one he couldn’t handle. But even a supernova needs to watch and make sure his people would never be their own.
He will never set them free.
The girl was a threat he needed to take care of, but even the smoothest shell could be cracked. It wasn’t hard. Slowly, leaking away everything until determination was dust. First, you take the simple things: homes, freedom, food. And then you take the people: neighbors, friends, mentors.
You stop. You let the threat hang, the pull of power saying that you can, and you will take more. Even the toughest souls are easy to break. You rip their heart out and tack it to the wall, still beating- bleeding- breaking, and you add it to your bloody collection.
It doesn’t take much after that. Fear and paranoia will do the rest. The cat is in the bag.
Snow nods, charting his thoughts.
Yes, breaking things was never as hard as it looked. Ms. Everdeen was no exception.
Mom. The names are repeated over and over in Gale Hawthorne’s head, keeping him on track, reminding him why he does this. Rory. He fights for a better future for his siblings; for everyone. He can’t flake out now. Vick. Gale was almost positive that Hawthorne men were made of tougher stuff, but this was beyond everything that he had ever imagined. Posy. Not to say he wasn’t prepared to do what he had to. He was, without a doubt, one of the best soldiers in the lot. Katniss. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be afraid, standing next to his best friend, risking everything he had ever known. Mrs. E. But it was worth it. The risks were great, but the pros outnumbered the cons. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be afraid. Hunting in the woods was nothing compared to war. Prim, hell’s teeth, Prim. War was coming, and damn it if Gale wasn’t going to meet it head on.
They were all suited up, somewhere between the Capitol and District 1. The middle of nowhere was more the words Gale would use, but nobody cared to hear what he had to say; even if he was the Mockingjay’s best friend. It was strange to not feel the constant coat of coal on his clothes, but he supposed that the layer of mud over his uniform made up for the constant reminder that he wasn’t home anymore. That he couldn’t go back home. District 12 didn’t exist. He stood next to Katniss, messengers scuttling between the commanding officers. He blocked the images of his burning district out of his mind. Now, the memories were just fuel to the fire. The messengers were small little things, stiff in posture, and panting. If Gale was in change, there would definitely be a better communication system.
From where he stood, Gale could see the lights of the Capitol, bright against the darkness of the sky. At dawn, the rebels would attack. Or at least that was the plan. Plans had a way of going wrong, though. Soon, too soon, maybe, the Capitol would be burning just like District 12. He wondered how many innocent people would die before reminding himself that nobody in the Capitol was innocent. He needed that mask to get through the next few days. He checked his weapon for the 20th time that hour, constantly checking and rechecking. Everything had to be in order when they went in. Gale Hawthorn knew that something was going to go wrong. His gut was warning him of it since the previous morning. If he didn’t die in the streets of the people he despised more strongly than he thought he ever could, he was going to be dreaming of this for the rest of his life. Without even having started, Gale knew war wasn’t something you could easily let go of.
He turned away as one of the gimpy messengers fetched him for a meeting, following Katniss into the tent. Now was a time for anger, and was he angry. He could practically feel the rage licking at his heart. Now was a time for heartless Gale. Now was a time for action, and he was going to be ready. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be afraid, he just couldn’t show it.
There was no turning back now. Hell’s teeth, if this didn’t prove his loyalty, he didn’t know what would.
It’s dark, and cold. Peeta doesn’t know what time it is. Hell, he doesn’t even know where he is. Maybe he’s dead. That would be best, after all. That means that Katniss survived. Hopefully. He only remembers an explosion- bright lights and Katniss screaming his name from somewhere far off. Then again, that probably isn’t true.
His throat is dry, his tongue thick and sticky. Peeta experimentally swallows, trying to get some sort of liquid back into his mouth. He tastes blood, instead, probably from his cracked lips. A groan escapes his throat as he sits up, blindly reaching out a wall.
CONTINUE
Horror screams though his muscles, fear keeping his feet moving away from the flame- away from the fire. The child was in nothing but a thin button-down and pajama pants light blue in color. It was the same color as the sky, his favorite sky. His mind had fallen into automatic. Run. He didn’t even know where he was going, he was only clinging to his mother’s hand, the crowd moving and pushing and shoving in a panic that President Snow might even consider beautiful. That, or a job well done.
His mother had always been a strong woman- tall and proud, with high cheekbones and an upturned nose at the families that he wasn’t allowed to play with. “They are dirty, Benjemin” she had always said.
Now, with his hand glued to hers, he stumbles, suddenly getting yanked back. His scream left his lips before the smoke clogs his lungs, ending it in a savage cough. Wide blue eyes squint to make out his mother, stopping to pick up a small child. The little girl had dark hair and olive skin. Her eyes were closed, but he could bet that they were as grey as the smoke slowly killing him.
Panic builds in him, his heart managing to thud-t-thud-t-thud like a freight train- like the trains that came into the district from the capitol.
“Mama! Mama, come on!” He cries, pulling on her hand and helping her run with the child in her arms. It makes them slower. The smoke bites at lungs and eyes, making it hard to move. It was hard to do much of anything. Heat sears hair and skin, burning through anything and everything. A building explodes nearby, blinding them for a moment- just from sheer terror. Sparks fall like rain, and Mama turned to shield the child in her arms. She reaches for him and cups his cheek with her hand before both ruining and saving his life.
“Benjemin! Benjemin, my baby, run! Run ahead! Run!” his mother says to him, her eyes melted from the usual icy blue. “I love you, darling. Run!”
He wasn’t originally going to leave. He wasn’t really going to let go. He simply couldn’t. He just wouldn’t. But he does. She makes him. He obeys, tears streaming down his face from the smoke and his broken heart.
And that was before Peacekeepers shot her in the heart, leaving the little girl to die of suffocation, that is, if the burns didn’t get her first. For the rest of his life, Benjemin would remember looking back as he ran, much faster now, bombs raining down around them and wanting nothing more than to run straight back to his mama, before the crowd swept him up and pushed him forward into the woods.
The town center used to be a clean place. Well, as clean as you could get in District 12. A permanent layer of coal dust was everywhere. Sometimes, Katniss didn’t even notice the constant grit under her fingernails, and over her clothes, and in her boots, and on her bread. In District 12, there was no such thing as a clean window, either, but recently the town center has been avoided by all. Puddles of blood, old and new and constant, stain the wooden planks of the platform. The sparse plants around it cringing back as blood stain its leaves and dry the water from its roots. It seems that everything was dying.
Katniss tried not to look as she skirts past it on her way from the Victor’s village to the woods. Anger burns her cheeks. Leave the fence? Whippings. Kill a bird? Whippings. Steal an ounce of flour? Whippings. And the worst: make sure your brothers and sisters and neighbors don’t kill over for starvation? They will certainly whip you for that.
She slips through the fence, melting into the foliage. She had tried to stop a girl from getting whipped last night, her screams echoing across the town. Nobody in District 12 could sleep calmly anymore. The screams grew almost as constant as the coal dust. Haymitch stopped her, his drunken glare speaking volumes: They’re already begging for a reason to kill you. Don’t light that match.
The bad bit: she knew. And it was only her love for Prim, and the Hawthorne’s and Peeta that barely stopped her from lighting every match she had.
Capitol teenager. Late nights + slight buzz + words that shouldn’t be spoken.
The air is charged with static, thick and strong. Her lungs beat with her heart, just to wrestle a fistful of air out of her living room. Madge closes her eyes, her breath hitching in her throat. Her mother is upstairs, the curtains drawn and every thought drugged out of her. Madge can’t believe that her mother’s last moments will be in that blissful void. Probably for the better, anyway.
Madge had always imagined that she would die in a more dramatic way, though, in all likelihood, she would die quietly, in a bed somewhere, old and withering. But not like this. Madge recalls the one theme that always resounded in her death scenes, her nose buried in a book that she wasn’t reading. The sun was always out. Always.
She looks up at her father. Words bubble up in her throat. Words like I love you. But I love you wasn’t big enough, loud enough. I love you couldn’t say what she wants to get across. Nothing could. Not really. And she didn’t have time to explain. Nobody had enough time.
~
Mayor Undersee let out a slow breath, his eyes rimmed with red and beginning to blur with unshed tears. He wasn’t brave enough to cry like his baby girl. His brave, brave, beautiful baby girl. “Madge-“ his words were cut off by the whistle of bombs as they fall ever closer. The wooden frame of the three story house shook with the explosions. “I love you. And I am so- so proud of you.” He pulls his baby girl close, and hugs her tightly. He failed her. He failed his beautiful baby girl by letting her stay.
And there was a brief moment of hand squeezing before the girl with ribbons in her hair smiled one last time. And she couldn’t help but think that at least she wasn’t alone. And she let her world go up in flames, because at least she was at home, and not in the games. No, praise God, she wasn’t in the games. But maybe it would have been better if she had been.
Kat and Gale looking back on running away. With the promises to kill the other if they got caught.
The moment Haymitch Abernathy's name was selected for the games, he knew, without a doubt, that he was doomed. He was the kind of kid that wouldn't go without a fight, though. He swore that he would make his mother proud. That was before the Undersee girl: blonde hair, blue eyes and absolutely hopeless. If anyone was more doomed than himself, it was her.
Everything before the games was a blur in his washed out memory. He was far too intent on eating anything and everything he could, on sight. Maysilee Undersee wouldn't come until later, when the two bumped into each other day five of the games. Wordlessly, they lowered their weapons, and became allies. Looking back, Haymitch thinks that's when he fell in love, and officially made himself the most doomed soul in Panem.
His victory had no reward, except maybe the money to drown himself in white liquor. To burn her dying image from his memory, by never letting the drunken haze leave. After all, she was a blue-eyed blonde and he was absolutely hopeless.
~
He rose his bottle in a toast, throwing back the liquor, searing his throat. The Mockingjay had done it. He wondered if his mother was proud of him, briefly, before he lost all coherent thought. Alone in his dirty, dark room in District 13 (the light bothered his head), Haymitch drowned himself in the spirits of all those lost.
The rebellion had no reward, except maybe the promise that another Maysilee would never happen again. Haymitch didn't care about that, though. She was already haunting him, resilient and stubborn in his thoughts. No amount of alcohol could burn her away, but damn if he stopped trying.
The moment Haymitch Abernathy's name was selected for the games, he knew, without a doubt, that he was doomed. He's been dying ever since.
Coin on bombings.
Prim on bombings.
Mrs. E on bombing.
Capitol bomber on blowing up trees.
Capitol shootings, while trying to escape
Rebellion solider on traps getting to capitol
Kat on revenge
Snow’s execution.
~Fin
Hunger Games belongs to SCollins, we all know.
Let’s watch it burn.
Let’s watch it burn.
Let’s watch this city burn the world.
Let’s watch this city burn,
From the skylines on top of the world,
Let’s watch it burn.
Let’s watch this city burn the world.
Let’s watch this city burn,
From the skylines on top of the world,
President Snow looks out the window, snakelike eyes narrowed at the dark horizon. He cannot see the smoke from here, nor can he see the orange glow licking away at District 12.
He doesn’t have to.
The lights of the city swing against the dark landscape below him, and he looks down at it, a bloody smile twisting his lips. The scent of roses brushes the air as he sits, swirling and dancing like a poisonous summer breeze.
From his large-windowed office, Snow can watch over his city, his people- his conquest. And he could hear the screams of terror as fire burned though lives and homes and wrecked havoc where he commanded, because even fire is under his control.
Control. It felt nice.
‘Til there’s nothing left in her,
He mulls over his thoughts, the present problem at hand wasn’t one he couldn’t handle. But even a supernova needs to watch and make sure his people would never be their own.
He will never set them free.
The girl was a threat he needed to take care of, but even the smoothest shell could be cracked. It wasn’t hard. Slowly, leaking away everything until determination was dust. First, you take the simple things: homes, freedom, food. And then you take the people: neighbors, friends, mentors.
You stop. You let the threat hang, the pull of power saying that you can, and you will take more. Even the toughest souls are easy to break. You rip their heart out and tack it to the wall, still beating- bleeding- breaking, and you add it to your bloody collection.
It doesn’t take much after that. Fear and paranoia will do the rest. The cat is in the bag.
Snow nods, charting his thoughts.
Yes, breaking things was never as hard as it looked. Ms. Everdeen was no exception.
Let’s watch this city burn the world.
My body doused in ash with two empty cans of gas.
The only evidence they have is the police sketch of my mask.
My body doused in ash with two empty cans of gas.
The only evidence they have is the police sketch of my mask.
Mom. The names are repeated over and over in Gale Hawthorne’s head, keeping him on track, reminding him why he does this. Rory. He fights for a better future for his siblings; for everyone. He can’t flake out now. Vick. Gale was almost positive that Hawthorne men were made of tougher stuff, but this was beyond everything that he had ever imagined. Posy. Not to say he wasn’t prepared to do what he had to. He was, without a doubt, one of the best soldiers in the lot. Katniss. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be afraid, standing next to his best friend, risking everything he had ever known. Mrs. E. But it was worth it. The risks were great, but the pros outnumbered the cons. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be afraid. Hunting in the woods was nothing compared to war. Prim, hell’s teeth, Prim. War was coming, and damn it if Gale wasn’t going to meet it head on.
They were all suited up, somewhere between the Capitol and District 1. The middle of nowhere was more the words Gale would use, but nobody cared to hear what he had to say; even if he was the Mockingjay’s best friend. It was strange to not feel the constant coat of coal on his clothes, but he supposed that the layer of mud over his uniform made up for the constant reminder that he wasn’t home anymore. That he couldn’t go back home. District 12 didn’t exist. He stood next to Katniss, messengers scuttling between the commanding officers. He blocked the images of his burning district out of his mind. Now, the memories were just fuel to the fire. The messengers were small little things, stiff in posture, and panting. If Gale was in change, there would definitely be a better communication system.
From where he stood, Gale could see the lights of the Capitol, bright against the darkness of the sky. At dawn, the rebels would attack. Or at least that was the plan. Plans had a way of going wrong, though. Soon, too soon, maybe, the Capitol would be burning just like District 12. He wondered how many innocent people would die before reminding himself that nobody in the Capitol was innocent. He needed that mask to get through the next few days. He checked his weapon for the 20th time that hour, constantly checking and rechecking. Everything had to be in order when they went in. Gale Hawthorn knew that something was going to go wrong. His gut was warning him of it since the previous morning. If he didn’t die in the streets of the people he despised more strongly than he thought he ever could, he was going to be dreaming of this for the rest of his life. Without even having started, Gale knew war wasn’t something you could easily let go of.
He turned away as one of the gimpy messengers fetched him for a meeting, following Katniss into the tent. Now was a time for anger, and was he angry. He could practically feel the rage licking at his heart. Now was a time for heartless Gale. Now was a time for action, and he was going to be ready. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be afraid, he just couldn’t show it.
There was no turning back now. Hell’s teeth, if this didn’t prove his loyalty, he didn’t know what would.
And it’s hard at times to ask if you could save my heart for last.
And it’s hard to face the facts when the darkness fades to black.
It’s not just make-believe, when they make me take a seat.
And they put amphetamines in the air and make me breathe.
[/center]And it’s hard to face the facts when the darkness fades to black.
It’s not just make-believe, when they make me take a seat.
And they put amphetamines in the air and make me breathe.
It’s dark, and cold. Peeta doesn’t know what time it is. Hell, he doesn’t even know where he is. Maybe he’s dead. That would be best, after all. That means that Katniss survived. Hopefully. He only remembers an explosion- bright lights and Katniss screaming his name from somewhere far off. Then again, that probably isn’t true.
His throat is dry, his tongue thick and sticky. Peeta experimentally swallows, trying to get some sort of liquid back into his mouth. He tastes blood, instead, probably from his cracked lips. A groan escapes his throat as he sits up, blindly reaching out a wall.
CONTINUE
So come on and grab your children, look out for burning buildings
And villains, who pillage, they’re killing by the millions.
And billions of people die for a lost cause,
So now I pray to my nation destroyed under God.
It’s the end of the world.
And villains, who pillage, they’re killing by the millions.
And billions of people die for a lost cause,
So now I pray to my nation destroyed under God.
It’s the end of the world.
Horror screams though his muscles, fear keeping his feet moving away from the flame- away from the fire. The child was in nothing but a thin button-down and pajama pants light blue in color. It was the same color as the sky, his favorite sky. His mind had fallen into automatic. Run. He didn’t even know where he was going, he was only clinging to his mother’s hand, the crowd moving and pushing and shoving in a panic that President Snow might even consider beautiful. That, or a job well done.
His mother had always been a strong woman- tall and proud, with high cheekbones and an upturned nose at the families that he wasn’t allowed to play with. “They are dirty, Benjemin” she had always said.
Now, with his hand glued to hers, he stumbles, suddenly getting yanked back. His scream left his lips before the smoke clogs his lungs, ending it in a savage cough. Wide blue eyes squint to make out his mother, stopping to pick up a small child. The little girl had dark hair and olive skin. Her eyes were closed, but he could bet that they were as grey as the smoke slowly killing him.
Panic builds in him, his heart managing to thud-t-thud-t-thud like a freight train- like the trains that came into the district from the capitol.
“Mama! Mama, come on!” He cries, pulling on her hand and helping her run with the child in her arms. It makes them slower. The smoke bites at lungs and eyes, making it hard to move. It was hard to do much of anything. Heat sears hair and skin, burning through anything and everything. A building explodes nearby, blinding them for a moment- just from sheer terror. Sparks fall like rain, and Mama turned to shield the child in her arms. She reaches for him and cups his cheek with her hand before both ruining and saving his life.
“Benjemin! Benjemin, my baby, run! Run ahead! Run!” his mother says to him, her eyes melted from the usual icy blue. “I love you, darling. Run!”
He wasn’t originally going to leave. He wasn’t really going to let go. He simply couldn’t. He just wouldn’t. But he does. She makes him. He obeys, tears streaming down his face from the smoke and his broken heart.
And that was before Peacekeepers shot her in the heart, leaving the little girl to die of suffocation, that is, if the burns didn’t get her first. For the rest of his life, Benjemin would remember looking back as he ran, much faster now, bombs raining down around them and wanting nothing more than to run straight back to his mama, before the crowd swept him up and pushed him forward into the woods.
And all the hopes of a youth deemed fuckin’ insane
The town center used to be a clean place. Well, as clean as you could get in District 12. A permanent layer of coal dust was everywhere. Sometimes, Katniss didn’t even notice the constant grit under her fingernails, and over her clothes, and in her boots, and on her bread. In District 12, there was no such thing as a clean window, either, but recently the town center has been avoided by all. Puddles of blood, old and new and constant, stain the wooden planks of the platform. The sparse plants around it cringing back as blood stain its leaves and dry the water from its roots. It seems that everything was dying.
Katniss tried not to look as she skirts past it on her way from the Victor’s village to the woods. Anger burns her cheeks. Leave the fence? Whippings. Kill a bird? Whippings. Steal an ounce of flour? Whippings. And the worst: make sure your brothers and sisters and neighbors don’t kill over for starvation? They will certainly whip you for that.
She slips through the fence, melting into the foliage. She had tried to stop a girl from getting whipped last night, her screams echoing across the town. Nobody in District 12 could sleep calmly anymore. The screams grew almost as constant as the coal dust. Haymitch stopped her, his drunken glare speaking volumes: They’re already begging for a reason to kill you. Don’t light that match.
The bad bit: she knew. And it was only her love for Prim, and the Hawthorne’s and Peeta that barely stopped her from lighting every match she had.
They say: take the pill, in God we trust, go and kill,
God loves us, as in life, as in death, breathing til there is no breath.
[/center]God loves us, as in life, as in death, breathing til there is no breath.
Capitol teenager. Late nights + slight buzz + words that shouldn’t be spoken.
I will not die in the night, but in the light of the sun
With the ashes of this world in my lungs.
[/center]With the ashes of this world in my lungs.
The air is charged with static, thick and strong. Her lungs beat with her heart, just to wrestle a fistful of air out of her living room. Madge closes her eyes, her breath hitching in her throat. Her mother is upstairs, the curtains drawn and every thought drugged out of her. Madge can’t believe that her mother’s last moments will be in that blissful void. Probably for the better, anyway.
Madge had always imagined that she would die in a more dramatic way, though, in all likelihood, she would die quietly, in a bed somewhere, old and withering. But not like this. Madge recalls the one theme that always resounded in her death scenes, her nose buried in a book that she wasn’t reading. The sun was always out. Always.
She looks up at her father. Words bubble up in her throat. Words like I love you. But I love you wasn’t big enough, loud enough. I love you couldn’t say what she wants to get across. Nothing could. Not really. And she didn’t have time to explain. Nobody had enough time.
~
Mayor Undersee let out a slow breath, his eyes rimmed with red and beginning to blur with unshed tears. He wasn’t brave enough to cry like his baby girl. His brave, brave, beautiful baby girl. “Madge-“ his words were cut off by the whistle of bombs as they fall ever closer. The wooden frame of the three story house shook with the explosions. “I love you. And I am so- so proud of you.” He pulls his baby girl close, and hugs her tightly. He failed her. He failed his beautiful baby girl by letting her stay.
And there was a brief moment of hand squeezing before the girl with ribbons in her hair smiled one last time. And she couldn’t help but think that at least she wasn’t alone. And she let her world go up in flames, because at least she was at home, and not in the games. No, praise God, she wasn’t in the games. But maybe it would have been better if she had been.
But who am I to say?
Let’s all just run away.
Let’s all just run away.
Kat and Gale looking back on running away. With the promises to kill the other if they got caught.
Grab your saints and pray: we’ll burn this world today.
As in heaven, as in Earth, we’ve been dead since our birth.
[/center]As in heaven, as in Earth, we’ve been dead since our birth.
The moment Haymitch Abernathy's name was selected for the games, he knew, without a doubt, that he was doomed. He was the kind of kid that wouldn't go without a fight, though. He swore that he would make his mother proud. That was before the Undersee girl: blonde hair, blue eyes and absolutely hopeless. If anyone was more doomed than himself, it was her.
Everything before the games was a blur in his washed out memory. He was far too intent on eating anything and everything he could, on sight. Maysilee Undersee wouldn't come until later, when the two bumped into each other day five of the games. Wordlessly, they lowered their weapons, and became allies. Looking back, Haymitch thinks that's when he fell in love, and officially made himself the most doomed soul in Panem.
His victory had no reward, except maybe the money to drown himself in white liquor. To burn her dying image from his memory, by never letting the drunken haze leave. After all, she was a blue-eyed blonde and he was absolutely hopeless.
~
He rose his bottle in a toast, throwing back the liquor, searing his throat. The Mockingjay had done it. He wondered if his mother was proud of him, briefly, before he lost all coherent thought. Alone in his dirty, dark room in District 13 (the light bothered his head), Haymitch drowned himself in the spirits of all those lost.
The rebellion had no reward, except maybe the promise that another Maysilee would never happen again. Haymitch didn't care about that, though. She was already haunting him, resilient and stubborn in his thoughts. No amount of alcohol could burn her away, but damn if he stopped trying.
The moment Haymitch Abernathy's name was selected for the games, he knew, without a doubt, that he was doomed. He's been dying ever since.
This city looks so pretty; do you want to burn it with me?
[/center]Coin on bombings.
This city looks so pretty; do you want to burn it with me?
Prim on bombings.
This city looks so pretty; do you want to burn it with me?
Mrs. E on bombing.
We’ll use the trees as torches! Do you want to burn it with me?
Capitol bomber on blowing up trees.
We’ll flood the streets with corpses! Do you want to burn it with me?
Capitol shootings, while trying to escape
We’ll watch the city fuckin’ bleed. Do you want to burn it with me?
Rebellion solider on traps getting to capitol
And bring the world to its knees. Do you want to burn it with me?
Kat on revenge
Let’s watch this city burn
From the skylines on top of the world
‘Til there’s nothing left in her
Let’s watch this city burn the world.
[/i]From the skylines on top of the world
‘Til there’s nothing left in her
Let’s watch this city burn the world.
Snow’s execution.
Let’s watch it burn.Let’s watch it burn.
Let’s watch this city burn the world.
Let’s watch this city burn the world.
~Fin
