[e11even]

The scourge is imminent.
The hurt's immense as if it hurdles to hit the dense.
It's the curveball, the wild card. Invisible to sentience,
Yet so obvious in retrospect the fossils resemble this.
This is the mother of all plagues, it hovers on all days.
It smothers and calls graves... news concerning is all grave.
Heed the humming, unnerving thoughts, but save
All preoccupation lost on worldly things and costs today.
Run. Hide. Kill. Fuck. You'll still die in a bubble.
The same orb of unknowing, the fog of its rubble.
You have heard this through mumbles, but deem it no trouble.
"The end is near" in '99, Times attempted to fluff you.
2012 the Mayans received cinema tribute.
Catastrophe has not a date, it's more of the venue.
Intelligence is the food chain, your race on the menu.
Preparation is eons past, predecessors have stripped you.
Divinity is perspective, your purpose is abstract.
Your few have tried, but just to belabor these last facts.
Solar fire, comets, or asteroids, then the blast-back
Will reduce you to smashed crags drifting in black mass.
Look for other planets, but it's futile and useless.
History repeats itself from t-rex to human.
The industrial complex lended primitive ears to music,
But rendered your species to extinction, a definitive doing.
This is a tale of karmic proportions...
Ignorance is death, death your planet's abortion.
Best of luck to you and yours, but brace as the world ends,
Because music can't be ignored when the apocalypse brings the chorus in.