Our world will come to an end, and it might just be like this...
|They came on a Saturday morning,
In the shimmer of mid July.
They fell through the sky with no warning
And were seen by no mortal eye.
The first victim was a young brat
Who was playing out in a puddle of mud.
The mud suddenly became red
And her body, divided in two, fell with a thud.
Next in line were a traffic policeman
And a speeder who both met their bloody ends.
Then a boy on a bike, a man in his den,
A cheerleader and two of her friends.
By Sunday, the terror was spreading.
Whole buses were cut in half, clean.
The whole nation looked up at the sky asking
"Is this is the end?" and "What does this mean?"
Then, a priest lost his face in mid-sermon
And his crimson Bible was divided in three.
And a cat shed nine lives while a fireman
Left his hands up on the poor cat's tree.
And each time, the slicing was sudden.
And each time, the slicing was quiet.
And the earth grew more blood-soaked
And the populace threatened to riot.
The "Knives", the media called them,
For they sliced wherever they fell.
A trite little tag for a terrible plague,
But there's no fit expression for Hell
The airwaves were buzzing with guesses
And theories and interrogation.
None halted the bloody distress
Or calmed the terrified nation.
The "Knives" multiplied without mercy...
Day by day, the population diminished...
But the "Knives" one day were just too busy
And they stopped just before we were finished.
And a few of us lived till the end,
And we were just some of the lucky survivors.
But understand when I say this, my friend,
Deathly fear silences even the worst liars.
We stand in the rubble - more like children's blocks;
For the Knives cut cleanly and true,
Among the dead scattered like dismembered dolls
And puddles of blood turned black-blue.
Our world is over; that's a fact
And there's nothing we can do.