The house of dolls has been set on fire,
And the presumed culprit lies in heat.
Procession emulates funeral pyres
With a numbing of pain to deplete.
Détente for stray dogs; save a curt toast,
As we ascend culinary lies.
The accused was always one to boast
That he need not be linked in blood ties.
And what to do about humanity?
Well, as he reasoned, humanity's bunked,
Along with the history of Great Men.
And about individuality,
It was simply a ship dying to be sunk,
A moment in time to recur again.