A precarious stroll

I smell molten coal, dried up leaves and the waft of lingering doom. I hear crackling slag, rustling wood and the woeful cries of demise. I see what I hear, and hear what I smell, all visions of doom and despair. But I rack my mind, inside and out, to check where it all began. I fluster and fumble, Pester and crumble, But I cannot point it out And then I realise, the gift to recall, is void in a mind in trance. A transfixing trance, bewitching and sly, left all our men beguile. Little did I know, I was strolling a stroll, onto our death at once.