The Ode For The Dead And To Be Dead By Corona Poem by Kinsley Lee

Whenever the blood moon incants to the people with something,
And the stations go on the air the smiled face of demon.
Then Like the bush fires the infections steeply rising.
And the curses prevail the nation with the firing beacon.

Lonely, the dead make the rows in the crematory on the hearses.
Without the observers, the poor were leaded to the flames.
By the purification ceremony, being liberated from the curses,
They can go back the family's bosom with the former names.

In the crematory, the smokes go on rising to the heaven.
They were left as the ashes, there's no clues who they were,
The cause of death was the Corona, being formally written,
Without the dignity, the last road of the life, it's severe.

A white haired witch in the Center of Disease Control,
In every day, foretells the Dead and the Serious,
And incants the booster shots without the control,
The people who held the candles entrapped in nervous.