Oh, supple godhead,
I must partake of your fruit
to sate my interminable appetite

My mind is agape
with nonsensical rambling
My heart is in flames
and my body is eroding
But my soul soars ever further

Though you, heroine,
carry the sun on your shoulders,
My burden is superfluous still
We call to arms the hand of man
Stopping the world in its tracks

Until we drift through cold,
and blackened space,
or smash into the sun
Burn all our coal
Our forests wither
And still we dream of angels

Inside ourselves is a cocktail of opulence, greed
Ignorance, intermeshing substitutes with needs
Illusionment our only passion, for we bleed
But we escape our pain with substance

And in altitudes
above our perception,
you sit
And watch
But do nothing