At break of day our eyes will close.
We pray that soon the sun will go,
To hide behind a moon that glows.
We pray that soon the falling snow,
Will conceal the ground below,
Which opens up and swallows us whole.
We will not be forgotten, though.
Our stories are read by those who are late,
And they will know of our mistakes,
And be smart enough to slam on brakes,
For finally they know the stakes,
And refuse to follow in the fate,
Of a world consumed by floods of hate,
Where all we know disintegrates.
And all that's left is Dust.
the second stanza was imagined first at around 2:45 am as i was drifting off to sleep. i knew i wouldn't remember it if i didn't write it down so i grabbed a pen and paper. lo and behold, when i woke up i had completely forgotten that i had written it. the first stanza was written later.
