We carved our thrones from marrow, ash, and bone,
Proclaimed the earth a kingdom to command;
With fire for faith, we named the world our own,
And etched our legacy on shifting sand.

We courted gods of industry and speed,
We fed our fevered dreams to burning oil;
Cradled illusions as our spirits bleed,
A world diminished by unending toil.

The last tree standing whispers to the wind
Of days when all her sisters danced in rows;
But we, obsessed, taught death itself to grin,
And counted coins while nothing living grows.

We severed root from ritual and rite,
Denied the ancient voices scarcely known;
Replaced the sacred dark with blinding light,
And left no path that leads us back to home.

So raise a glass to progress—clear and dry—
And toast the world we pledged we would refine.
We rose like Icarus into the sky,
And signed our fate in carbon by design.

The Earth inhales a long and fevered breath,
As relics of our reign corrode and fall;
Each monument erased by time and death,
When none remain to profit from it all.

Yet In the cracks untouched by flame’s intent,
A silent vine weaves upward, splitting stone;
No voices linger—none accuse or lament—
Just silent Earth reclaiming what was loaned.