Forgive me dearest mother; I have blood on both my hands.
I seem to keep on torturing and murdering your lands.
My siblings, we have fought, or more so waged war in your toes
and it was never in our right to throw you all these woes.

Now sweetest child whatever do you think that you have done
when all your actions have been planned to fulfill only fun?
You sail across my waters and dance in sylvan brush.
What harm could you have done in joyous smile and sweetened lush?

Why we have killed and stained the world in our own heinous pride!
I simply do not see that fact, just flick the thought aside.

Our factories spew onyx soot to poison all the air
their mammoth boilers seething heat no one could ever bare.
We melt your gemstone icecaps to make tsunamis out of fears
and drown the world in oceans, salt-filled with dying tears.
So ravenous is hunger that our stomachs burst with acid
consuming grand and graceful woods, aged and wholly placid.
We don't even take ownership of our raw gruesome deeds,
and yet we have the guts to say others are filthy weeds.

Oh such greed that runs and courses through our soured veins
we crack a whip, so carefree, as we throw our kind in chains.
We are the grand oppressors. That is all there is to it.
We trample on the trodden to squash out all the spirit.
The bombs we build explode to carve deep craters in your heart
tearing blood away from blood and forcing friends to die apart.
We use wars as excuses to burn and **** and pillage
never mind the ceaseless, toxic flow of radioactive spillage.

Experiments on your children throw their lives on gory shelves
to concoct potions and elixirs to immortalize ourselves.
As arsonists we roar to celebrate forgotten pain,
and the world trembles in fear when we set fire to the rain.
Burglars sneak about in black beneath a starless sky of smog
while miscreants cheat cheaters and lie in lazy bogs.
We claim to have a right because 'survival of the fittest',
but we are murderous monsters: the bottom at our best!

All this is quite alright my child, for after all you see;
you are the only one you hurt, your bombs cannot scathe me.
You are such selfish creatures, though not in the way you think
not self-centered in the fact you seem to consume in such great feat.
No, you my little narcissist with such egotistical mind
you are selfish because you are oh so very, very blind.
For the truth, my sweet child is that all your ****** games
harm not a single soul but you: humans and their names.

Your flames burn but your ashes, your explosions reap *your dead,
and the lacerations you inflict? scar just inside your head.
The world will live regardless of your stained and guilty hands
and honestly, you won't be missed from these alluring lands.