Is it bad that I think, think,
think about the way the end will come.

That I see the water flood the streets,
that I feel the fire burn inside me.

I can hear the animals charging down
roads and fields, as the earth cracks and crumbles.
The tips of my fingers turn cold and blue
as my mind freezes over, and volcanoes boom
under our feet as we bring the world to its end.

The thing we fear arrives at last
and we are all to blame.
I put my heart in quarantine
as pestilence sweeps the land.

War tares us apart as we try to lower our guns,
but we are compelled to do
the things we hate as we attempt to pursue peace.
We run and run and run and run
in search of life that has been trampled by our feet.

The conflict in our midst becomes obvious
as the dust clears but does not disappear.
Our friends beside us grow feral and hostile
as long, ****** fangs are bared.

As the fog rises and the clouds black out the sun,
it becomes clear to me that the end has been here,
but has not taken us all.

And we wait and wonder who goes next
as our comrades turn to competitors.

Yes, we wait and wonder,
as we see the end has come,

but still, it is not here.