Barren. hollow. desolate.
Burdened by the weight of emptiness and failure.
I thought I heard them whisper..
"Come home to us and sleep once more blanketed by stars
and breathe again the air uncorrupted
and tread upon the footpaths of those you've cast aside.
Wade into the waters flowing, winding
never to contemplate these cursed thoughts again..."
This is sorrow. This in no way defines us.
How can we be so careless?
The vision is calling, is piercing our hearts.
We cannot dwell here idle while this violence goes on.
Banished. Driven out of existence. A curse upon the earth.
Always under the banner of progress and feigned elevation.
Know that this culture will dissolve. It is the natural conclusion.
This cannot persist much longer.
One day we'll build upon the ruins of this dead world.
THE MAD BARRON
The Source Of The Metal