At the toll of the bell,
After Heaven and Hell,
When our satellites fell,
Did we fare so well?

When the oceans have choked,
Fraught with plastic and smoke,
The halcyon barriers broke,
And the Old Ones awoke.

Now we are so few,
Scattered fro-and-to,
Like Babel anew,
What are left to do?

The sun has grown cold,
Withered stories untold,
Our hearts had been sold,
For failures and fool's gold.

So pray for calmer weather,
Now and forever,
But this life won't get better,
This is my final letter.

There's a pit-
      In my soul,
We'll find what might fit,
     Well, that's the goal,
A pound of Grade-A marijuana?
A lil' *****, yes I wanna',
A couple pills for the thrills,
Needles sure give me chills,
I'll try anything for the thrill!
...
But there's still a pit.

Plus, there's a hole-
     In my heart,
What'll make it full?
     Here's the art:
Driving sixty-nine in a thirty-five,
Punching the first person acting snide,
I'll eat my words till I burst,
Drink poison friendships; I feel worse,
And forget this vile, no good, gods-****** curse!
...
But there's still a hole.

And there's an ache,
     In my dome,
Keeping me awake,
     Yet I can't seem to leave it alone,
There's something busted in my head,
I bet I could fix it with some lead,
Or a sharp-as-sin knife,
Oh how Hell hath such tiring strife,
Oh don't, don't, don't, don't tell my wife!
...
But there's still an ache.