By Harry Jack Jones
Here we are in the pre-apocalypse
Annihilation awakens from the depths
our coexistence soon condemned, but
here I am thinking of you
the wind is drunk with melancholic acceptance
Are you too, listening to its gentle tune?
a serenade of what could have been, but
I wanted to be with you
As the world’s personal oblivion
humbles us to permanent sleep
know till the end I’ll be here
dreaming of you