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?
Copyright © Amy Zhao | Year Posted 2018
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