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a powerful confession in the words of a dying world
lying on his deathbed, he's become a graveyard
his ego spent, he gladly lets go of his sin
before the holt, he takes a final spin
his pride in the orbiting lifeless satellites
feeding off him for eons like parasites
watching him, helplessly drift
he realises a final truth he must admit
that we are not his children, he never had any
and even though he’s nurtured so many
we never loved him as he does us
and when the time comes,
will it feel like the first day of spring
will we hold onto him like his offspring

no amount of tears will ever fill the desert
our contempt has birthed the dust storms in his heart
the empty shoreline of an endless beach
the waves are a painful memory we failed to teach
preach, preach!
about the whale and the shark

he dies in a pool of crude turmoil 
after he smoked his last fossil fuel
into the atmosphere
of depravity and utter fear
he lies on the bed of money made from exploitation
and returns as dust does into the desolation
heaven is a dark cloud behind a blue sky we can’t see anymore
he hopes his soul is wired to somehow find the door

here lies a fertile garden that sin sprays
and the devil upon the alter preys
on fallen souls
as demons serenade them like angels
we arrive wearing suits and makeup
just in time to catch a wakeup

a last chance
to take a final glance
back down the path of the evolution of life
and ours and maybe have a laugh
or cry
and ponder now, or wonder why
we lost compassion
a global confession

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