I crawled to the end of the world

And peered over the edge

And found the living roots

Of every plant and tree

And the souls of men who ruled the earth

Hung from the branches

Like silent bats without wings

Cocooned in mould and grime

For thinking they made a difference

For thinking it was worth their while

The air was mouldy and mist-ridden

Something foul was afoot

The waste of a selfish race

Hid the stars in muck and soot

How long until it flips, I wondered

The weight of the world is on our shoulders

The blood of the worlds are on our hands

And THAT, my dears, is the only truth.