Is this the final world,
brown fields without access,
beige empty walls
and a tempestuous jerrycan

Are these my final words,
as the battery flats
the sun sets or never rises
beyond my pale blue screen

Am I to be the last of my kind,
nameless name changer,
a runner from fading fairies
and hopes lost

Is there another way
not backwards
through the fading flowers of hope
towards the fields of Elysium

Is this our final world
where castles crumble,
crumble being served
without custard
cold, cold, earthlings — beware