The Crone
Does it matter what bundle you would've burdened? I think you would have raised him craven,
playing videogames unshaven and as he watched your face decay,
and the buildings, *they* will wither, the vines will over-reach,
and the bandit boys with rifles will break the tenuous peace,
and the waters will stop flowing, the food trucks, they will halt,
you'd be better off not living as we build the living hell,
the end is just beginning, and it isn't how you please,
it full of war and torment and terror and disease,
its full of horses riding to the sound of distant drums,
and scattered armored forces killing one by one,
heap skulls onto the pile, the air is growing thin,
sun sets in the beaten field, as we receive the wage of sin,
and hate sets into that red warm glow, hope is cast aside,
drift out while you can to empty sea, and sink beneath the tide.