In the dawn of dark skies, a painting of mist spread amongst the air, colored   leaves die and then abandon their origin. Flowerless aroma and roots with no   chance, earth wisked away by winds of ignorance. A portrait of blindness we   all possess, and then the all important clock begins to laugh in all our   faces. In the past, not a thought to the future on a sphere that's four   billion years old, the sun will burn everything and then it'll go cold, we   the people will burn to the bone, death ridden corpse will now mark our home.   Boiled seas will abandon shores. Think where we'll be if we don't try to act,   the world will go back to it's origin.