What has begun this earth could be its demise.
Creativity has lost its direction.
The meek forgotten and no rain in hand.
The thirsty reign.
With an ending drawn like a line in the sand.
I sit and think.
I walk and think…
of the simple atrocities done unto me.
stepping on every stone in the ghost town.
Mine is not the only suffering around.
Clear cutting destiny in the changing winds.
An epic symphony.
Orchestrating a somber song.
There is no savings in the daylight.
Only a righteous spire with not a soul in sight.