After Us Comes The Flood

We are the artists of the time.
Bloodfire sunsets - our canvas.
On them we draw the outlines
Of our dreams. In panic madness
We dream of crowds, faceless people,
They grin and lure us into dances
Around roaring bonfires.

We dream about being petted
And treated to some semisweet,
In dreams we think that life is blissful
And revel in humanity,
Not knowing that we are absorbing
Poison drops. Sweated,

Our friends get sick, they fade away,
Now left alone to bark,
Like dogs that go astray,
We dream that loneliness’s a drug,
Wake up as if we are in love
And hope it rains today.

Though rules the heat, it fries the air,
Sets fire to the veins,
Somewhere the river burns in prayer,
They say it writhes in pain.
It’s not of our blood, so we lit ours, ‘cos
All bridges and cathedrals burned down anyway.

I watch how phoenixes make nests,
Collecting our hairs,
The smell of smoldering self-immolation fest...
Given the gift to leave on their will, aware
What’s on the other side, but never
They’re gonna say a word to us possessed.

We lean against the walls of centuries old
To feel the time by sense of our touch.
It‘s rough and wet, and maybe salty, cold -
The tears of the contemporaries. Much
More easily this makes us breathe
In the today’s smoking burning world.

We‘re not supposed to be the heroes
Of present history. Instead
With many flaws in our brains, and zero
Dopamine, we’d thankful be to live our lives to end,
Not to mention, life of humanity as whole.
As the apocalypse is slowly getting nearer,

Sometimes it’s doubtful to really claim
That we can save our civilization,
We’d save our sinful backs, no aim
In our misty eyes that look into the future
Saying apres moi, le deluge. But by the way,
We’ll say it yesterday, drunk from emotions,

And note, the green mile is so long in our salvation [damnation].