The waves lapping the shore are the murmurs in my head,
For within the entrails of that water resides my dread.
As the dark sun bows before the now semi star lit sky,
Columns of smoky flames stretch from below quite high.
The beast has unleashed a harsh devil now uncontrolled,
A simple twist of fate put it squarely in death's hold.
Masters of mechanical wonder who cannot wield the world,
Employ empty orbitals to avoid the doom we march toward.
For these shades are hardly more than parasites at most,
Consuming every ounce of life from this beleaguered host.
So what shall these waves whisper as our fate encroaches,
With little audience left beyond the world's cockroaches?