We all have happy places,
Where evil never rears it’s ugly head.
A garden of eden,
Or perhaps a summer camp in the Berkshires.
Or maybe it’s an island with sunsets made of gold,
Or a market with food that tastes like friends, like laughter.
Maybe it is the place you call home,
Or maybe it’s the fear you call death.
We all live life for now.
We laugh, we cry and then we die,
Those we’ve left behind clinging to our pale corpses.
Or maybe they’re clinging to their own memories of us,
The things that they won’t forget until they join us in the void.
Life ends, and then our loved ones end, and so do our happy places.
That summer camp you love?
It’s a filthy landfill.
Your sweet island?
It’s been buried in the waters of former ice caps.
The market that was your refuge?
It’s been nuked, just like New York, Moscow, Paris.
All things end.
All things end.