De the martian chronicles de Ray Bradbury...

"The rockets set the bony meadows afire, turned rock the lava, turned wood to charcoal, transmuted water to steam, made sand and silica into green glass which lay like shattered mirrors refecting the invasion, all about. The rockets came like locusts, swarming and settling in blooms of rosy smoke. And from the rockets ran men with hammers in their hands to beat the strange world into a shape that was familiar to the eye, to bludgeon away all the strangeness, their mouths fringed with nails so they resembled steel-toothed carnivores, spitting them into their swift hands as they hammered up frame cottages and scuttled over roofs with shingles to blot out the eerie stars, and fit green shades to pull against the night...".