In the dawn of dark skies, a painting of mist
spread amongst the air, colored

leaves die and then abandon their origin.
Flowerless aroma and roots with no

chance, earth wisked away by winds of ignorance.
A portrait of blindness we

all possess, and then the all important clock
begins to laugh in all our

faces. In the past, not a thought to the future
on a sphere that's four

billion years old, the sun will burn everything
and then it'll go cold, we

the people will burn to the bone, death ridden
corpse will now mark our home.

Boiled seas will abandon shores. Think where
we'll be if we don't try to act,

the world will go back to it's origin.