Whoever said ‘we’re going down in history’ was full of it.
Our actions, will not be remembered 100 or 1000 years later,
The only constant in our twisted little world, is death.
Our only light in the dark, is the one short life we get to live.
It doesn’t matter what you do to be remembered,
When nothing but ruins remain,
And our metal monuments and simple idols linger,
He will just look down and turn.
His sands will shift and winds change.
All would be forgotten, the bold, hairless apes,
That thought they deserved immortality,
Less than a memory.
You will die, I will die,
There is no avoiding it.
All we are is a simple speck of sand,
A shout in a hurricane.
None of it matters to anyone,
How we live, how we fall.
The only words that will echo are those painted in love, or blood.
I hope you have big lungs,
Because I’m already done with shouting.