After all our talk of grace- and love
Humanity cooked up and ate that dove
We're staring down the barrel of nature's gun
Squeeze the trigger ourselves for a day in the sun
Look up to bask, there ain't no sky to be seen
Blotted out by the sludge called greed
There's a storm brewing but I see no rain
Only thing falling on us is cold disdain
The lowest of the low, they cheer and celebrate
The apparent victory of an old friend called hate
Finally forsaken the sins of hope and peace
Now there's six billion souls on which to feast
I get the feeling that this might be better off with just the first two and final two lines kept as the poem, to hell with the rest of that tripe... but then I guess it would be too short. I dunno, I just write the damn things.
