Raz
Bluelighter
God's little scavengers sit on a fence and wait for us to die.
Some more of the same stir up the air, steer the universe into predictable chaos.
There's something in the air today, something that feels like the white flashbulb grip of the bomb blast just before everything turns to black. Something that feels like the spirit of change got locked into place. The birds thrash and dip because they know what it means.
The clouds are ready to cry. They know what it means.
Claustrophobic sunlight screams and skitters in motionless panic. This is what it means:
;Today is the last day that anything will be the same; The universe has reached its halflife; We're living under the pressure of too much dark matter; The sun and the sky are our enemies now and the air we breathe poisons us and the earth is letting go with a sigh and all of this banality is just
one
big
death rattle.
When the sparrows circle and circle and circle, it is time to be scared.
The psychopomps have lost their way.
Some more of the same stir up the air, steer the universe into predictable chaos.
There's something in the air today, something that feels like the white flashbulb grip of the bomb blast just before everything turns to black. Something that feels like the spirit of change got locked into place. The birds thrash and dip because they know what it means.
The clouds are ready to cry. They know what it means.
Claustrophobic sunlight screams and skitters in motionless panic. This is what it means:
;Today is the last day that anything will be the same; The universe has reached its halflife; We're living under the pressure of too much dark matter; The sun and the sky are our enemies now and the air we breathe poisons us and the earth is letting go with a sigh and all of this banality is just
one
big
death rattle.
When the sparrows circle and circle and circle, it is time to be scared.
The psychopomps have lost their way.
