Recently they’ve come,
Proud sons of Gods,
Strangers from the future,
To generate perfect race;
They started to destroy,
To kill without pity,
They were preparing Earth
To its new rebirth;
CH:
The fifth race was born,
On our tears, on our bones,
With boiling oil instead of blood,
Without bit in mechanical heart;
When the last one fell,
They were ready to come back,
Leaving for new masters
This recreated land;
Standing a number to a number,
Their children watched the sun,
Seeing our last dusk off,
Meeting their first dawn;
Last civilization
© Copyright: Ирина Галаган, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №210040201450
Свидетельство о публикации №210040201450
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