When our monsters run dry,
And the fire and the smoke is nothing but purified ash.
When the long forgotten moon no longer sits as high;
Its factory suggested glow,
Flickering as it cowers low in the blacked out sky;
Censored, for the stars are offensive.
When our leaders and liars aren’t one in the same.
Maybe it will all be seamless,
Maybe we will all go to war.
Our bodies will not protest,
and love ends as nothing, but a forced emotion.
It’s feeling lost by the test of time.
When we have nothing real left to speak against.
That is our demise,
That is our saviour.
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