The wild winds weep tears of rage,

and howl in bitter pain,

at the looming fate of human kind,

by hubris now brought low,

ravaged by bold ignorance,

by avarice seduced,

lost in lust for eager death,

the acrid smell of war,

who yet upright, amazed, awakes,

to a body scarred with wounds,

and looks on in stupid wonder,

as from the wounds blood flows;

the skies are black with murdered souls,

the fires fiercely burn,

the seething seas rise up as one,

yet still we blunder on,

as if in childish games we live,

of skip and blind man’s bluff,

as if our life’s an endless maze,

of twist and turnabout,

unsure the way we entered in,

in fear there’s no way out.