The prophecies convey a dreadful end,
the words in blood are unable to mend
the hole of which our time has borne,
the scales of life are horribly shorn.
the sands of time are running low
though the deterioration is awful slow,
a resolution would be the last hope
our brilliancies hang at the end of the rope
histories proved to be more correct
but the ends of the dream would not connect
so subtly the world succumbs to fate
the symphonies of time came far too late
at last the train dies to a piteous halt
annihilation tends to mold the result
a shapeless ruin of worlds gone past
proves that society wasn't built to last.
