• Vol. 05
  • Chapter 11
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When the air at last
Has become unbreathable
Caustic enough to burn
Our tongues and eyes
When life requires we wear a flat
Black mask
And carry good air
In black tanks
Strapped to our backs
When faces are hidden
And voices stilled
Just to keep us
From swallowing poisons
We can't survive
Will we still make music—
Still send it dancing
Through the ruined air?