Plague of epic proportions has taken hold   Bodies lie in the streets stacked to the heavens   Deaths hand clenched around swollen throats   Set ablaze to contain the contagion      Bloody mucus flows from the infected   Emaciated crawl on crooked hands   There backs arched in agonizing wail   "What have we wrought?" they cry      Synthetic Pathogen   Preforming at maximum efficiency   99% chance of certain death   Only the dreamers shall remain      No solace as their life ends   Agonizing torture as fluid fills their lungs   The captain salutes as they pass   Waiting for the arms of sweet death      Hemorraging from every orifice   Eyes cataract and blind   Wrought of their own construction   Mankind has successfully ended his time      But what of those who remain?   Adrift in a sea of the dead   Basking in their mortality   They hear two distant cries      (one the soothing call of a mother   the other the maniacal laughter   of the dark man)      Welcome to the world of Project Blue   Welcome to the land of the dead   Welcome to the field of hope   Welcome to the city of the dead