then strip them of name.

We look down with wonder—

and poison just the same.

The pinnacle of thought,

the masters of decay,

each step toward glory

leaves life in dismay.

Gathered together,

we fracture and turn.

A species misguided—

no will to learn.

We claim the earth,

but not the blame.

We curse the fire,

while feeding the flame.

The fate of it all hangs by a thread,

and still we chase what leaves us dead.

No shelter left, no sacred place—

when we are gone, they will embrace

the silence we broke,

the skies we stained—

This world will breathe

once we are claimed.

We carve the earth

for fleeting gain,

then wash our hands

in acid rain.

We build on bones,

ignore the cries,

and call it progress

as nature dies.

Only people could end this war,

but turned away—

asked nothing more.

The history can stop.

The thread can snap.

We are the weight

on nature’s back.

No escaping fate, we lit the pyre—

destroyers crowned in fault and fire.

We fell from the top and still pretend,

but when we are gone, the world will mend.