this time next year the sun will rage and burn
the moon will hide her pale, worn face—
the earth, no longer, turn

the stars that fill the sky, like beacons in the night,
will each fade out—one by one—
for we have lost this fight

family will shelter among the rocks of coal-stained hill
the lives once led, a memory—
each day sharp blades doth kill

the end will come swiftly,
none left there to mourn
when all are bones, a new day dawns
and Adam will be born.