The black smoke rising over the city of London like the dark cloak of death, brought with it the ashes covering the walls like mud after a rainy day.
The thundering sounds of the gears rotating and driving on the infernal machines in the womb of England made many crazy and pray.
The laughter of children was taken away with the regular coughs of the workers returning to their favorite bars.
Long forgotten have been the wives and children replaced by the warm watery beers, severed by their new best friend so far.
Black is the new color, lord or worker everyone covered with the dark mud that shaded the city in one tone.
This coal blackness was not only worn outside on the used clothes of the average men but also inside of each and everyone’s souls, even my own.
This is England 1862, and soon death will await you too.


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