Our Sun is growing, becoming something dreadful,
who knew the end wold be nongovernmental.
Our sun is in a constant growth, but yet it's in decay,
five billion years from today
our Sun shall burn as bright as fifty
with our Earth burnt, nice and crispy.
Growing, growing, until it swallows us whole
for the meantime we watch with no control.
On the mist of a futures morning,
the end will come with a fiery warning.
~
Slowly the days will burn,
hell on earth,
away from it we can't turn.
People scream and run
from blistering heats they can't escape,
little do they know it's only begun.
Rotten flesh, burning corpses
filling the world with its stench
and the sun the world scorches,
until nothing is left to burn.
YOU ARE READING
Liber DCLXVI
PoetryBook 666; the beast of all nations confined in the words of an articulate occultist. Here lie the eschatological concepts of the world, ancient and new, all are one and the one is all, as is the coming of the end.
