I'm just scribbling in the wind
Babbling to dead trees
I wonder why I even begin
painting portraits no one sees

I'm just spitting into a void
Barely whispering from a well
I wonder if anyone hears my voice
It's becoming hard to tell

I wish I could write a great piece and then chill for a few

Instead of scrounging each day to create something new

Every poem I write literally makes me jones for more

Is it the poet or the addict in me?
I really can't be sure

Metal, blood, and oil
plunged into the sea
Only at the hands of men
could this be
Beautiful things aren't here
for us to enjoy
Nor are they ours
to freely destroy
Yet to burn the world down
seems mankind's fate
Because of our love of money
and our nature to hate
Yes, we'll torch this innocent Earth to the ground
Till it's just another lifeless rock spinning around
And space won't remember us
neither will time
Our entire existence
an unspeakable crime
We don't deserve this place
and she doesn't deserve us
Our metal, blood, and oil
will turn her to dust