Hour One

The people are hungry for the end of the world
Eager for revolution and rapture
Like a culture of craven, ravenous wolves
Ever poised on the brink of disaster

Perhaps its a remnant of some darker time
Which calls to us from across the ages
A reminder that the annuls of time
Are written on hearts and not on pages

All great empires are destined to fall
I assure you, ours, too, will surely crumble
Indeed, all great towers are right to tremble
When the fragile earth begins to rumble

Still, our end remains imminent
Pressing on us from all sides
Powerless to change our incumbent fate
Such is the ebb and flow of tides

Is it some specious impulse
An obligation otherwise repressed
Save for the artistically induced hum
Of our collective consciousness

Seek the end but don’t force it
All of this is finite in virtue and form
Never forget that we are but visitors here
For no one survives the storm

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