The king of all the world is bathed in renown
Yet it is the Queen who truly wears the crown
The times are dire and the hour is late
The people try to escape their fate
They scramble and scream
Birth of the madman’s dream
So spreading chaos and panic
Invoking Ghosts of Titanic
But I wonder, what is our fate?
What lies beyond; does mere ruin await?
Is all we have to look forward to our end
Or perhaps the road ahead will reveal new friends?
Perhaps we will fly like shooting stars
Travelling the cosmos in celestial cars
The future is more than can be seen or heard
We may yet have the freedom to fly like birds
Remember this, dear child, through all of the dark
A tough and forested trail may lead into a walk in the park.