This world is ending,
this spectrum of colors and lights;
these forests shall crumble, this
skyscape, ignited by the fire
of a toothless grin.
When this bell tolls,
when this hourglass shatters,
it shall be time
to go. As the dust
suffocates us,
we walk away
from the tsunami.
The sun will be
crucified. We will watch
it burn, as it curses
and spits plasma,
that annihilates the moon,
but not us, never us,
for we shall escape
the labyrinthine enigma
of the hypercube,
as it imprisons us,
sickens us. Are we not
the saviors? No,
for heroism only brings death.
We used to be gods,
remember? But now
inside this toothless grin,
freedom shall drown.
We are the leaves that float
down, down, onto the alumni
of deserts and oceans. Look,
we have died and saved no one.
