My throat is dry, I can't think why,
Nothing makes any sense anymore.
The desiccated land, jaundiced sand,
Mouth full of sores like never before.
The sun is hot, that's its job,
More than we can take.
The pond now a puddle,
Cloud seems an idea that's fake.
This is earth 3000 AD and it's dead,
Humans are critters like me.
Leftovers of the ancient ruins,
The cracks house us for free.
If you're reading this in the past,
You still have time to stop this.
Think what you're doing,
Would you call this future bliss?
