The world is broken and token tears are wept by those who slept through the decline,
The people choke upon the smoke as spoken fears are swept under burning pines,
There are those that wish to tell us all is well and that we need not fear the licking flames,
Nor all the waste that chokes the fish or heat that burns the forests in their names,
Carry on as normal, buy our oil and plastic, it will make no drastic difference in the end,
Don’t procrastinate, it’s much too late, so sate your hunger friend and spend,
Wear your pockets thin from delving in and paying for your sin of lethargy,
Spare a sorry grin for sharing in the laying down and burning of gods effigy,
Cry a tear for yesteryear and how it all would be so clear, had we but known,
Fly a spear of fire to the nearest spire of the church of ready redemption,
Cast your gaudy gaze upon this tortured burning land and have no doubt,
Those that sell the dream remain unclean and laugh at those without,
Brittle are the bonds that tie the people of the world in fragile peace,
Whittle at the fronds of dying flora as the world falls to its knees,
Stand upon the hand that feeds your soul and body ‘cos you can,
Brand this thirsty land with fire by the hand of man,
Stand amongst the smoking wreckage of a world bereft,
Realise your ignorance and sin when nothing’s left.