The moon will rise on a starry tide,
Though for attention it long has vied
With the stubborn smut of human grime
And our loss of love for space and time.
It has endured this long neglect,
But for our kind it lacks respect.
It watches through a filthy haze,
As we refuse to change our ways.
And so, as our last building crumbles,
The moon looks down at us and rumbles
“Anyone can see it true,
This was long overdue.”