At the End of the World

Say, My beloved of Ruins of Old Who do I have to blame for the End of The World There is but one metropolis remaining Consumed by Drought and Siege At the End of the World Plaster dust raining on upon nobody at all In a frenzied glow At the End of the World Where is the battle of satans and saints When paper boys traverse streets On tinkly tippy toed feet As the sea roared away its last And the white columns the founding fathers Torn down by hungry burglars in the siege My beloved died in my city, purgatory My city died in my arms The Great Bell tolled Hope in the vanishing palace The best of is but a candle in the wind Surely, you would know why?