Rapture and relegate,
let us dance drunken upon graves
for this place, this funerary pyre
in a state of perpetual fugue
burns with an uncommon fire
.
Draw the blood, as collective junkies
ready for the next bump,
the black tar flows empty to
power diesel trucks, frozen thrones,
and all the gas grills in our homes
.
Equlibrium is lost to us, who
inebriated on desire, intoxicated
by the power of self assured demise
flaunt apocalypse like a righteous wrong
As the world turns, we are whimsy to wobble on
.
They say Mars was once our home,
or, potentially so, blew away when a solar wind
gusted the hot pale of death across it's surfaces
and the core cooled, robbing gravity
from the self sustained feedback of electromagnetism
.
Now, in the last two hundred years,
we have experience such a remarkable trend,
flow to ebb, of our internal magnetisms
the decline is stronger than it ever has been
and we, free radicals, deserve it