He stares into space,
Pulling his patched coat around the flood of pain
That is he.

The haze comes again,
Carried in by the wind,
Poison in a clean world.

The dark surrounds him,
As he sits by the fire, huddled, homeless and
without much of a chance…
Disease eats at his skin,
As he wonders what his sin
has been.

His eyes, flush with pain and anger, are accusing and wild
This is the common man, our hero, praying for a mild
Nuclear Winter.