We chase tomorrow, haunted by the night,
Yet all we seek is forged within this breath.
The meaning of life ignites through quiet fight,
Here, in the present, between birth and death.

We built our godly towers, piercing the sky,
Yet lost ourselves within their cobweb of steel.
The higher we ascended, the more we’d deny
The quiet truths that only ancient Earth reveals.

The Promethean ape, who tempted fire’s awe,
Now bows to screens and algorithms’ law.
With every new invention, walls surround—
He names it progress, while Eden is unwound.

The system feeds us, cradle to the grave,
With rules and comforts, safety’s cold embrace.
Yet deep within, a need for what the soul craves—
A bond with earth’s breath, the wind’s soft trace.

Our leaders claim we’re freer than before,
With rights and freedoms inked to long remain.
Yet liberty is traded, sold on the market floor,
And dignity fades in the auctioneer’s cold refrain.

Autonomy, a relic, gently mocked—
A word for poets, rebels, or the mad.
We’re told we have agency, but every door is locked,
And every choice is one we never truly had.

We seek fulfillment in the things we buy,
And chase the status others say we need.
Yet find we’re starving, no matter what we try—
A hunger no possession can ever feed.

So if the world should break, as all things must,
Will ashes teach us what the wild once meant?
Or will we, craving order, rise from dust
To cage ourselves anew in fresh lament?

So let us toast the age our hands have made—
The perfect cage, designed with love and pride.
We’ll celebrate the progress we betrayed,
And raise our glasses as the wild is crucified.