Asphalt ribbons still crossed The warlord desolate expanses Of states once united. The downfall, though swift, Had left these ties intact. It will be a curiosity and a theme for many a campfire night What purpose these beige wheeled boxes strewn along them and abandoned all, served When the downfall finally came. The once-young said they were houses For those who intended no legacy. The now-young, we say that cannot be: Only fools would trust their shelter To the mercy of a wrenchman. After all, in the last years, we heard Wrenchmen were treated poorly And many were not our kind. *[more stanzas if they come to me]*