The Fall


Your walls built up.


between mortar.


the echo,

down with drunken sledgehammer swings.

You seem like a pretty,

peaceful being,

resting in those hollow trees.

Reminiscent of the pagans past.

While we think we're so advanced with our little chips,

and the rising price

of gas.


Blood moons will rise from the west.

Prairies fill up with the vicious, eating wind.

Swamps gurgle in the black covered darkness.

Watching the fall.

We've all seen it fall.


Ashen districts of newspaper propaganda.

Nothing but demons,

swing from trees.

Footraces on rooftops.

Already know that the fall has came,

so no worries pass through the brain.

For everybody is living like they're already dead,

and that voice will never stop screaming in the back of your head.

Ride the waterfall,



only in air do you really miss the ground.


Hear the tank tracks across the pavement.

Angry machines,

ancient devil,

underworld things.

Yeah, the moon has gone red.

Volcanoes are going to go,

watch the fireworks burn orange.

Watch it,

as if,

you had,

something to learn.

Seas roar back.

Move their domain where they please.

The great, Earth shift.

Passive, dying lift.


Watching skies turn black,

you know you're on your way home.


Dilated pupils stream across the highways,

beckoned wishes left to burn.

They need a ladder up.


They need a ladder up.


But nothing changes fate.


The End

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