𝗧 𝗛 𝗘   𝗔 𝗕 𝗦 𝗢 𝗟 𝗨 𝗧 𝗘   𝗦 𝗟 𝗔 𝗨 𝗚 𝗛 𝗧 𝗘 𝗥

grey void. billions of years inside the frozen womb across the endless tomb. the empire wakes. first transmission dead. stars turning off. black vacuum swallows the light. no sirens on the grid. no warning call. they cut the sky into the night. sectors freezing slow. the planet core drops down. the iron weight has arrived. we evaporate. we disappear. erasing the dust of our name. with a cold, mechanical fear. nothing stays behind. only the silent blade. cities melting into ash. oceans of blood on the floor. millions begging the machine. but the shadow locks the door. to their cold, steel eyes, millions of fragile human souls begging them for grace. but the machines just arrive to entirely erase. they don't look at the bodies that - fall. to their mechanical eyes we are bugs -- nothing at all. the apocalypse sins year after year. the iron wood is cracking under this dusty doom. the heavy smoke is erasing light from the room. a single cold raindrop falls upon the ancient stone. the crosses on the hills remain silent and alone. no thunder fell from the clouds to save our dying home. the earth is quiet now, drowning in the ash and the shame. into the deepest mud, the human faces fall. the black sun eats the crown. the metal wood is cracking. smoke blinding the space. the ancient crosses going down. no thunder from the sky. no god to hold the hand. into the deepest mud, the fragile faces end. the final world goes dead. the slaughter is done. the end has now come. we are bugs. nothing at all.