Extinction: Rough Draft

As leaves dry in the summer,
There are only cobweb veins,
Landing leaves in parched rivers,
Remnants of the floods remain,
The grave stones keep on rising,
To where vultures are piloting,
They demolish land for road kill,
And we don't worry about a thing

Death has a grip on the world,
Spinning through a static sky,
That is too often distorted,
By those who opportunely fly,
Blocking out last gleams of light,
It's routine to control and survey,
The world outside is falling apart,
But who looks out peep holes anyway?

The galaxies will twist and turn,
And we may even be upside down,
The surfaces are always shifting,
I'm not sure we're on solid ground,
To be forced under a microscope,
Discovering life under frozen lakes,
Sailing among stars only to find,
A broken lense that couldn't take

And all these content people,
They are facing towards the ground,
Waiting for the executioner,
To trip a giluteen's sound,
No need to explore the stars,
When you're making shallow graves,
And there's no need to carry on,
With no more roads to pave