Tapping The Barometers

There's a time bomb ticking, or maybe it's a deathwatch beetle
And there are fingers tapping on glass, to try and move a needle
Perfect pressure is rising, like a fuse to burn a tinderbox of land
Parching what was verdant green, as the forest fires are fanned
It's time that's ticking, but not forwards, it's quickly ticking down
Not pausing for a single second, until it reaches the zero ground
Godforsaken world of our existence, it's going to 'crash and burn'
The end's in sight, we saw it coming, but there wasn't time to turn
High tides' water's lapping, so why are we tapping the barometers?
Everyone knows the facts, it's in the mercury of our thermometers
Born to die, one by one, but with extinction we can all die together
And although it'll not be today, ahead there is only stormy weather
Run for cover and hide away, beneath all those futile sapling trees
Our last hope has gone now, in the smoke of an Amazonian breeze
Mining, drilling, scrape the ocean bed and prospecting wells for oil
Earth to dearth, dust to dust and the fracking hell of rocks and soil
There's a time bomb ticking and there's not an hour left to wheedle
Even if the pressure is passing 'stormy', of the anticlockwise needle
Rage with need and say a pointless prayer, to keep the children fed
Sometime, much too soon, our blue planet will turn to Martian red

Oceans Of Fire

On a far away distant shore, he watches the setting sun sink into oceans of fire
Cascading rippling rainbows of colour, from plasma to golden brown; to admire
Ending in waves, it's now the time of the eschaton, as the heat caresses his back
As the conflagrations behind him are the apocalyptic infernos of a nuclear attack
Napalm, pestilence, the plague and what came next was from a nightmare vision
Seen before, but forgotten, as he cursed them all with missiles of ballistic fission
Out of the low desert sun, he created a cataclysmic path, in his Revelations' wake
Furious flames climbed to the enraged gods in heavens, as the mountains quaked
Fire and brimstone scorched the earth, as the shore of hellfire was turned to glass
In the dying embers, of this dying day, even the dead desisted, as ghosts amassed
Rains of acid may well pour, on the cinders of the shire and the razed metropolis
Eventide awaits him now though, in the oceans of fire of his barbaric apocalypse

Low Desert Sun

Low desert sun, casts his empty shadow forward, as if to show him the way
Obligingly guiding him, across the land of the lost, beyond the break of day
Wandering away from all humanity, in a sackcloth hood for a leper's crown
Delirious with visions of the desert metropolis as purified as the ghost town
Eventide through night revives him, as he trips in sand, for his flesh is weak
Safely hidden, beneath the stars, to tend the rancid flesh on his rotting feet
Endless darkened dreams infuse him with wanion, as he peels away his skin
Revealing the corrupted beating heart of him, of pestilence, plague and sin
The dawn's ablaze with neon, drawing him near, like moths to oceans of fire
Shining like a beacon to the approaching, droning swarm of an unholy choir
Under his hood, watching the beginning of the end, he calls for rains of acid
Napalm and hellfire's falling, he smiles, for the smell of burning flesh is acrid

The Ghost Town

Time has stopped, for those who lived there, they were born to die
He therefore wanders, like a starving jackal, beneath the desert sky
Every rotten door he knocked on, crumbled, hinges seized with rust
Guarding the secrets within, for outside there was only swirling dust
He'd passed through before, but was repelled by their crude aspersions
Ousted back into the wastelands, as they prayed behind closed curtains
Seared by the low desert sun, his misguided life became insanely vague
The only memory that was certain, was he cursed them with the plague
They've gone now, 'cept for the shades, for nothing's alive in the valley
On the empty streets is tumbleweed and wind-whipped sand in a ballet
Wandering from the ghost town, he hides himself underneath a hood
Not knowing his future destiny, but always knowing where he's stood

On The Edge

I'm hurrying and I'm scurrying and I'm hiding away

Scuttling through a mossy bog, I'm acting like prey

I sense they are there, for their shadows are coming

So I'm breaking my cover and into a mire I'm running

I'm a man on the edge and I'm abroad in dark places

For I can see their quizzical eyes in their invisible faces

And all their inaudible voices are whispering my name

For they're feeding my real fears, with insanity's claim

I'm squelching my escape through boulders and rocks

I think they're now afar, but I was slow out the blocks

So warily I trundle and stumble until I'm sure I'm alone

And step behind a grey monolith of unbreakable stone

I'm restless and tired after all of my delusional rigours

But before I take respite I espy those peregrine figures

And it feels like a nightmare, or paramnesia at a stretch

For now I'm sat above a precipice and I'm out on the edge

I had to escape from my demons and I think you'd agree

But now I'm clinging to crumbling rocks high above a sea

And I'm holding my breath because my back's against a wall

But I'm losing my grip; oh no, oh fuck! I think I'm gonna f...