Somewhere, in some demonized country, the people are angry.
A few of them take it upon themselves to solve the problem.
The solution they propose is the blood of innocents.
The wheels begin to turn.

Elsewhere, in some concert hall or subway station, a man is prepared.
Many others are not.
Regardless, they too are caught up in a plan begun halfway across the world.
Oiled by blood, the wheels spin faster.

The screens light up.
Tragedy, tragedy, read all about it!
The death toll rolls in, entire lives reduced to a number, a place in another story.
The wind of indignation spurs the wheels on to a fever pitch.

The makeshift memorials loom high in the city squares.
Flowers are scattered, gifts left, condolences given.
The bereaved mourn.
But the wheels must not slow yet.

No, the politicians must give speeches!
Never forgive, never forget, never again!
There must be vengeance!
The wheels become the propellers of the planes that drop the bombs.

On the other side of the globe, yet more innocents pay for the crime of a few.
Yet more tolls are calculated, yet more memorials are built, yet more anger is sparked.
The wheels will quiet now, another cycle done.
But someday soon they will begin again, and many will wonder why.

The day we learn that bloodshed begets bloodshed, they will still for all eternity.