Long Ago, Long A-Gone

Long ago, long a-gone. The world was a fickle mistress. The snowstorm was a white reaper, who uprooted the lame, and washed its white coat every winter. The heatwave was a sweeping hatchet. Even a clear sky could mean doom. Long ago, long a-gone. The early man was born. He outlasted many, and outsmarted all, and created much. Long ago, long a-gone. A connection between one universe and another was born. Only...that connection was not real. We lean on the time-bomb of mass extinction, begging for forgiveness. We laugh, we yell, we blame, we forgive, we dream. But what does that matter? We had a chance. A chance to break the clock. A chance to break the malady of repetitive, monotonous throbs of ardor, the mantra of the will to spread asinine songs of meaningless joy to an empty void. Long ago, long a-gone. The world was a fickle mistress. The snowstorm was a white reaper, who uprooted the lame, and washed its white coat every winter. Every winter it was the same thing. A white coat turned red in minutes The heatwave was a sweeping hatchet. Even a clear sky could mean doom, but who cares? Not man. They died dancing in the hot sand. The bones are but ash. Long ago, long a-gone. The early man was born. He outlasted many, and outsmarted all, and created much. And then he felt joy and screwed it all up. The end.