From naught She came, and to aught does She propel;
in ever-narrowing arcs the pendulum marks Her.
She exists for this moment only, for there may be no other.
She strives to stimulate growth
to simulate the way She was when Her time began
when She was green and lush when Her children loved Her better.
Yet She cannot overcome the crimes of Her child
Her favored one, Her thinking one, who walks aright,
who worshiped Her and promised to protect Her
but now deserts Her, rapes Her, hates Her.
This breaks Her no more than
the negligence of the heartless one, the voyeur
who sees Her suffer, and passes on, untouched by Her pain;
who could have saved Her but wouldn't bother.
This, then, is Her death song...
Earth to ashes,
Ah, men!
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