Time.

Time.

Night fades away, as the sun warms the air,

The voices are still, and the air is thinner today.

Noon creeps above the clouds, as not even a sound has bound.

The trees have turned brown, and the flowers stay underground.

The sun has worked for the end of time. The air whispers tells of whoa.

Of creatures of many types that once soaked up nature's youth.

Till there was no more to use, do the world died.

And they did too.