This is probably all to do with Donald Trump

SHROUD

Fool's mate fool's mort so early in the game
eye's water sting that this is all we get
sand smashes spills from turned time glass. I met
our death upon Samarra road. My name
from under shroud bass spoke and yours as well.
Thought we had years. Polite I offered seat
Thick cloth makes bones perspire in end-time heat
Death labours hard and honest and his smell
More blood and sweat than mausolean dust.
This it? Above our heads the sky was red
with final fire. Suburban privet bled
black sap. High towers fell in gravel rust.
Death took our hands the world what might have been
Our work undone we burned we ate the green.