He, growing, is nearly asleep but his psyche keeps fast to the tale
He hears:   The world at end, too many fights, ugly bites
                    They never knew or tasted peace, the blast on close
                    Rights, mere words.

He wakes, jarred by certain fear, praying the bubble at the end
Is big enough for enough
(Enough of the right people).

If the world should end this year and a select handful could make it out
Inside a scientific bubble, hidden in a volcano
(There is talk of super rich buying off tracts and strips
Away from when the crowds go mad........)
Will we need preacher or agriculturist, who will grow the crop?
Is an artist of importance or how about the taxman?
When this big, blue ball's reduced to rubble, do we need accountants?
The cave age beckons, folks and Lard knows, it seems not far off
Not the way groups take turns to hack away humanity.

Stockpile the water, canned food, save a let or two
And leave sentiment at the door, the bubble cannot hold us all
(Wait, where'd I leave my cell? Oh, there won't be electricity, no charge.)
No meat to eat, but hens to lay
Save the flint and remember: keep the secret.