Before the Cold

As those who fall from the heightened sky
Reach the ground, all withered up and dry
To gather them all and prevent them to fly
But to forget to fly is worse than to die

Bewildering as you see this thing
That scrapes off pieces to leave nothing
To a pile to be sent away from everything
To exclude, to remove, a morbid gathering

Bended perceptions as they’re put into bags
False hopes as they’re stuck between rags
Their fates procured by the one who drags
These breeds, lower than the one who brags

Then the one who scrapes the scene
All the bags and the rags are kept obscene
For the time again that comes so keen
For the time again to keep all clean