here is the end of an era
a season of desperate drought
we carry these bags, the luggage we have
while in these frail cubes we are bound to stay sat

eating plastic for food, wearing pixels for eyes
the warmth that we know is of blazing pink skies
our present lives offer no living
the books i so love start to tear at the seams,

all reality becomes less sure than a dream
nothing is as it should seem to be
our clock has sped up as the men aim their guns
and the women are told to stay silent and sweet

losing ourselves, we consent to this mess
horizons of East burn to bleed and hold "peace",
dark roses of truth colour this cursed country
a lifetime of growth swears to halt at my feet

2020: year of grief, no relief
this bleak closing scene promises to haunt me