cold arms around my warm neck
winsome whispered sweet nothings
my intuition keeping me correct
cunning foxes drinking from acid lakes
tainted soils and chaotic airwaves
the end is near
death is banging on the front door of many
claiming plenty spouses, friends, and family
the one percent flying to Mars while we watch Afghan's heart
be beaten and abused, cowed and ruined
Gaia is enraged and bursting into flames
sickness still inducing suffering with sundry strains
the end is near if they do not refrain
the end is near I am ashamed