Year 2155…Place: Earth
Withered trees strain with shriveled roots
To reach subaquatic Utopia on the horizon
The “flower” of humanity replaced
By the fetid aroma of decay and death
Distant thunderheads pound atmospheric hammers…providing
Music for the coyote, vying for supremacy with the lowly roach
Upon this infecund wasteland, Humanity’s last two representatives
Struggle…a single gold coin between sanguine, slivered fingers
The last two words…spoken on the planet
Echo off cliffs and corridors, carved by Avarice and Ambition
Gimme, gimme, gimme…Mine, mine, mine
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