Armageddon
Here we find that nothing is left in store
as the tired wheel finally spins no more;
the mess we created since time began,
no amount of prayers could get undone.
Nothing will save us now, surely not God,
in place of goodness we went for the bad;
we paved the road with too much religion,
now we're helpless on the way to perdition.
It's way too late in the game to even hope,
we are cursed, right at the end of our rope;
like ruined goods we're way beyond repair,
the end has come, just around the corner.
The skies will fall, then follow the meteors,
like what befell the great, ancient dinosaurs;
if the mushroom cloud does not get us first,
at last quenching our self-destructive thirst.
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