The sky is weeping.
As the burning star retreats.
To give us some reprieve.
At the Lord's calling.

The sky is weeping.
Tears, sour and rancid.
That were once pure and sweet.
Because we refused to hear nature's calling.

The sun is angry.
The poles are splitting.
The cold is building; waiting,
To freeze the waters that are boiling.

We were warned,
But we didn't listen.
Stubborn, refusing to take action.
But nature is done talking.

Done, warning lesser beings.
For the doom once foretold,
Is at the shores of reality.
I only hope, its not too late,
To do anything.