These ashes were of kings. Monied Lord reduced to cinders. Barons rose in black clouds to kiss the sky. Unmistakable suffering moving the beasts along and home. The old roads are now broken. A layer of gray dust covers the whole world. Sitting on the apart with every heart clocks going to admiration of interchange, agreement to pay. the backside, sealed sat upon the dead end of affairs. No more ones or zero's. No more holy ghost toast on Sunday morning. No more nothing but the ashes blackening our streams.