We did it, we finally really did it,
we blew it up.
The clock stops ticking as the silence of
electricity runs through it.
Monsters of industry stop at the hand
of a symbolic clock.

Conflict from the East and West
has brought Armageddon to our door.
A confident young leader of the East
and an arrogant business man of the West,
helped by a horseman of the North
have by their hand taken mankind to the stone age.

Instruments of peace are built to send a message
of hate, fear and promise of destruction.
Instruments once used in a final and unforgettable
effort for peace in sleeker times.
Not having learnt from two examples
we march onwards into Judgement Day.

The young Leader from the East now sits
scared, retreating into his power and dead vision.
The confidence now sits with the West as they
enter the East, coming to claim what they can.
The deck is played with one last final card in
the hands of the East, a regretful one.

Ten plus five places are to experience the
beginning of the end first.
The last card is played,
the last card mankind will ever play.
Metropolis goes silent in an instead,
civilization turns to somber ashes.

Words in whispers are spoken in
loss, desperation, pain and remembrance.
As the former things of the world
have passed away into ashes and particles.
A psychological hell land lays ahead as
men with sticks and stones approach.

"I will always think of you
I see your face when each day’s through
and days go past oh so fast but memories, they last

Summer Winter Year by Year
I’ll hear the song Inside my ear
Trying to restart
That’d be smart
The thoughts of you haunt my heart
No I don’t want to be alone now
Just bidding my time
I need somebody dearly
And darling you’d be sublime
Spring and Autumn Up and down
I keep trying to escape this town
And I just might I’ll take flight
Maybe tomorrow, not tonight"

Is it not truly dissapointing to watch
someone fail to live up to what you know
they are capable of?
Someone with such potential but they don't use it.

There was a pupil, and this pupil wanted to do something
everyone told him he'd fail at.
But he did it anyway, and for a brief while he felt as if he was home.
As if he had finally found life and his part in it.

He was told that he had talent, that he stood out from the rest.
Someone he greatly admired said this to him infront of his fellow pupils. He was happy.
His purpose felt firmly established.

Months later the pupil fell into a darl place, slowly losing his love
for what he thought he loved.
Lost in a world he thought he figured out, walking through a dark tunnel, looking for a place to sit rather than an exit.

He looked back on what was told to him, that he had talent.
That he was special... he realised something.
Just because someone doesn't fit in, does not mean they
special.

The pupil sat writing about his feelings, and a lite spark came back,
a spark no larger than the first morning light.
Realising what he loved will be there for him,
however he can't be there for it as not to ruin it.

"No one would have believed in the early years of the 21st century
that our world was being watched
by intelligences far greater than our own;
that as men busied themselves about their various concerns,
'they' observed and studied,
the way a man with a microscope might scrutinize the creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water.
With infinite complacency, men went to and fro about the globe, confident of our empire over this world.
Yet across the gulf of space, intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic regarded our planet with envious eyes and slowly, and surely, drew their plans against us."