It was never meant to be like this.
At what point do we abandon order,
And give in to destruction?
Here, in this desert of waste,
The materials long outlast
The spirit that created them.
Our excesses and our instincts
Became our undoing.
Wind pushes dust over dust,
Settling over the prosects of our former hopes.
All that remains is the face our beginning,
Rusted over by our inevitable end.
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.09 seconds at 1:56am on Nov 14, 2024 via server WEBX2.