Alchemisland

Morning before the long night, in mourning the lost bride

Has great expectations, anticipates swift rising

Swift arrival of rivals at my triumph, unveiling my idol

Jiving on my grave, I cannot but convey my distaste

For this age and its empty rages, extinction embracing erasure

Surety of eternity, turning to Atlantis as a prophecy for futurity

Posterity a word approached with trepidation these days

Predating weathers, terrifying plagues, the pregnant birthing babes

Without wind in their sails, born to watch the fading masterpiece

Pale to wet paper grey, we have sold life, the future is a grave

The grave futures, the swaying blade above us, the circling vultures

Who cannot be shooed away, ruing each day not spent undoing the ruinous systems

Ruin earth, the flooded London is a marshy jungle full of giant poisonous insects