that eleventh hour
oceans become radioactive
who and what we are
insolent and reactive
only time will tell
depending on restrictive
open vindictive games
welcome to shameful hell
so the milk's gone sour
Gaia save us from this state
when flowers have burned up
when forests are completely ash
grasslands plowed and churned up
when a birdless sky
reflects some critical fate
when the fiery  sun
has incinerated all our hopes
taken away all our dreams
when a mystical clock
suddenly strikes twelve
when nothing we know
remains the same
when we finally wake up
open our mystic third eye
realizing that it's all
just too damn late
what we've lost is gone forever
what we've managed to maintain
is simply greed and hate

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