Flowers that decay on the graves that are fresh.
The problem got buried alongside the flesh.
The contamination of body and soul.
By nuclear waste dumped along time ago.
When fther was thirty he worked for the state.
Producing the weapon to keep a stalemate.
Deterence by inference no one could win.
Balancing power but the knife edge was thin.
Father was paid so he didn't complain.
But felt that it was rather a dangerous game.
Producing a toy to destroy was it wrong?
But problems came up so he had to stay on.
The production of waste was the problem to solve.
It wouldn't evaporate, rot or dissolve.
They used metal coffins to bury at sea
The nuclear raioactivity.
They said it was safe for a very long time
And paid off the papers to say that was fine.
And nobody worried about that anymore.
They were too busy worrying about the next war.
The wastage seeped out and diseases were found
In the lungs of the men who worked underground.
"It's coaldust, it's cancer; it's normal" they said.
'Til somebody shouted, "These people are dying, someone is lying"
And Father is dead.