The town of Bridgewater, they say.

Has a story older than pestle and mortar.

Centuries of violence held at bay.

Several stands in its gateway.

The children there never grew old.

Except for a pair, proud and bold;

The Cortez Twins and their young friend.

They resided in the old town, playing throughout the weekend,

Enjoying the old town of Bridgewater.

A story tossed around, hand in hand.

Said a boy had the power to change fate.

Reborn every generation, across the land.

There were rumours some could misunderstand.

Though, it be in a far-off land.

Outside the town of Bridgewater.

The Cortez Twins rose to the occasion.

With their young friend, Ivan.

Setting out on a casual liaison.

Out of the old town of Bridgewater.

Their story was not to end, the boy knew that well.

Together they trod, through the underbrush.

Distance was ne'er an issue, the chime of a distant bell.

Rang over the old town of Bridgewater.

The woods held the three together to roam.

Its land green and vast.

The sun rolled down the clouds, bringing out the stars.

Their young friend, Ivan, said they should go back home.

To the now sleeping town of Bridgewater.

In the centre of town stood a man with a long metal stick.

Ash engulfing the surrounding houses like a blanket so thick.

The smog, it heated the air.

Burning the lungs whomever be near there

The Cortez Twins and their young friend Ivan.

No longer had their sleepy old town of Bridgewater.

More men came.

Their action was swift.

Needles, laid out in a kit.

Together, a three, may have been considered a gift.

None remember their old town of Bridgewater.