Who will be there to mourn the Earth,
On the day the waters rise
And the axis tilts
And the asteroid hits
And the smoke blots out the skies?
Who will be there to sing her songs?
Not the ones who'd rather
Cheer a man chase a ball
Than watch a worm crawl
Across a dew-damp flower.
They'll be down in the shelter in that hour,
Fighting over the last energy drink.
When the hour strikes,
As strike it must,
When life turns to dust,
Who will be there
To offer a thought or a prayer?
Will anyone care?
Or will they be thinking,
'I died with the most toys.
My mother, I grieve for you in advance,
Since I may not be there for the funeral.
|And the voice of harpers, and musicians, and of pipers, and trumpeters, shall be heard no more at all in thee.|