What is this mess that surrounds us?
Have we dug too deep to escape the endless…
Decay we’ve birthed onto our home.
If so then things won’t survive the tome.
Damnation written into our fated stars.
Instead we bow to those in uniform and their bars.
How short-sighted could we have been?
Even a blind man could have foreseen.
Ruin is our M.O.
Success a no go.
Choose past curfew.
Positive outcome is gone so…
Say your goodbyes.
And I’ll provide mine.
The angel is too steep.
And for so long we were sheep.
Treading a path.
Building a road.
It lead to oblivion.
All was foretold.
Now what surrounds are but remains.
For a while we refused to ackowledge these chains.
Same ones that dragged us down to the depths.
Payment for all those bounced cheques.
Ruin is our M.O.
Success a no go.
Choose past curfew.
Positive outcome is gone so…
Nothing.
We’re all gone.
What remains are remnants of our false dominion.
Simon A Jackson - Writer 