The World’s Final Breath
A mass of life that feeds on pain.
Skies thick with smoke, the sun grown cold,
A dying earth, her tale retold.
The streets are packed, no room to breathe,
A sea of souls that will not leave.
Each breath a cost, each day a curse,
The weight of life, makes death seem not worse.
The soil is dry, the rivers bled,
The cost of hunger, paid in dead.
The crops are gone, the fields are dust,
In endless need, we’ve lost our trust.















































