A thousand ships sail towards sun
each one carrying the hope of life
each searching for the island of life
sails set high, urgency in air
cover the maximum ground
or drown in the star dust
burnt by sun, skin peeling off
they still manoeuvre the vessel
charting set co-ordinates
under the shade of stars

the last of the scions
the last of the czars
the last of humanity
all bundled up inside
scrouging over morsels
already inhuman
they are the lost hope
oblivious of the fire
concerned about nothing
they fight the trivialities

No redemption sought
yet the men at top
toil so hard
to set the right course
time will make them see perhaps
the cause that was already lost