If this was the end, for you,
for me, for the creation, how
would we be judged?
As the children we once were, perhaps,
innocence and glee.
But still, would the sun
not fall onto us?

I could be the messenger.
I could tell the tale
of destruction of humankind,
but would it be for nay?
Would it be better,
to die,
in the darkness?

Die as heroes, die as villains,
do we truly care
which way we go?
If the rain of fire,
would still come down?
If we'd still
soil the ground,
with out bodies?

So I say, take me,
teach me the ways,
of living while I have the day.
I do not care for
heaven nor hell.
For I'll still be,
just dead,

when the red sun cries.