At the end of the tunnel

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.

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