Metropolis

At one time this metropolis
Was a beacon of glass towers
Reaching high into the clear blue sky
Now here, she lays down sad
A pile of pancakes and all her proud glass windows
Have been thrown out as melted blobs of glass
Flying off, long into the land

And the three proceeded down the melted track-way
Up ahead were tiny hills in small mountains of mashed-potato-lumped glass and steel
Twisted forests of upturned iron, and rivers upon rivers of black burnt plastic
From the low and soft blanket sky, the falling ash was almost blue in its black-ness, and the approaching fields werе but thick sheets of smooth, smooth, smooth melted glass
The firе had been so incredible that absolutely everything had been consumed

All the labors of civilization, labored and labored and loved and labored were now simple slime and smelly drippy drippy fung under those nice brown pillows, floating clouds low and brave
Steel beams now just long silent drips into shame
Porous pus and cup-cups just as gone as the old blue tears on a gentle tin man's face
Avenues and boulevards move under themselves, transformed into fields
Of soft giant tooth-fillings splattered everywhere like dried phlegm, snot, snot, snot on the end of your finger, falling into the palm
This is it, this is what's left of the metropolis
Here is the shining legacy of smarty-pants industrialists and laboring muscle-bound steel-bending iron men who made the cities, planning and hammering and sewing and singing, dollars exchanged and checks written, slop, slop, slop now, slop, slop, slop on your face, wiggle a pair of big tits on a cowboy stage, big tits with nipples of sharkheads that squirt blood on your nose after biting your big fat tongue right off

Here we go now, smash up the city, melt it into the common mush all in about one-thousandth of a second with a blast of white light and big, big brick oven heat, heat, heat that levels the city like butter
So simple to incinerate millions of sleeping people just burn, burn, burn 'em, burn 'em into little baldy bugs and let the sticks grow up out of the ground and impale the rest of them
Hang 'em by their brown and blue assholes while their posh apartments crumble into cindery paper with smoke rising up into the air, rising like tar-covered angels, raped and thrown out of Heaven while the Devil boogeymen hold down the poor and pregnant woman with a golden halo stomping on her belly she screams while her husband with a donkey lies dead with his throat cut
Flan looks ahead at all this, the crust and the current festering and melted poise of plastic
Colors and colors and colors and colors of rancid oils just twirling and broken jaws flying
Everything has indeed been reduced to the common mush, everything reduced to the bare ingredients side by side, smouldering like piles of shit like bubbling piles of shit, bubbling paint and bubbling shit, shit, shit, the common denominator, the common mush, common perilous
This was the city now, piles of plastic and glass, mountains and hills of melted glass like sickened candy canes
Poisonous sugar laced with vinegar and nerve gas, Flan felt like vomiting all over himself in a big, big shocking mess he was walking into, this forest of hard goo, this gigantic garden of urine-gasoline varnish sick and sick, sick flattened out across the burnt open heart surgery land

Here, singing a nervous opera, he was watching those bright black and hysterical loud columns of smoke, miles and miles long like a thin black and silent tornado, rising as revolving ropes and traveling along under the low brown clouds as giant worms might, worms of smoke, colliding like spider webs, and stabbing themselves into the low brown clouds, joining them while Flan and Ginger's nostrils remained almost carved out by the sickly sharp stink of burnt plastic and fumes burning their eyes in the awful heavy air

They looked down to their feet and they see way under the sheets of clear melted goo
They see billions upon billions of black pebbles, piled like pepper, crinkled, the jack-hammer-shattered remains of the nice concrete roads and kind generous bridges, bits of steel, bits of rock, iron, quartz, granite and marble
Now just little chunks of worthless bric-a-brac-brack-brack-hack-hack, nothing but pebbles and sand, nicely textured and preserved under the melted glass sheets
Just the common mush now, the common denominator, the very basic ingredients in this very big, tired and bleary-eyed tip of the hat mass-mass-mass structure, all broken and confused and shattered
Lay down now, lay down you quiet and sad corpse with pale blue face and crying relatives
Lie down across the barren land where the earth can now hear that your heart has stopped, no more nice urgent beating, it's just a packet of still muscles filled with festering blood