The Garden of Bleakness & Vanity

The world today with wildfire spread of imaginations A conflagration of fearful tones From the vines they whisper and the ears shall receive But these vines yield no grapes And it's leaves are drying of rot and fungus with a stench of times to come Death has cleared a path through the brushes It seeks to harvest the peace of the calm The calm shall lose it's sheen as a dying leaf And the souls of the lost, thistling spirits that boldly advance to the fiery sun of anger As by night they frost, a chill of none caring The whispers still echoing in the ears Are like wasps that sting endlessly And the cacklings of froward crows That laugh at the fallen countenance of our faces in our calamity Shall give way to shattering shreiks of wickedness Vultures that shall swoop down to consume all things living or dead Our fear has planted this seed And it pushes for it's germination