Our legacy is hostage to its whims.
We've changed a lot, change still more as we roam
It surface. But lo, how our prospect dims.
We burn on through the fuel that's easiest
To use to go beyond this atmosphere,
This gravity, and with it burn our best,
Perhaps our final hope of leaving here
As we are now, bipeds with hair and hands
And hearts of flesh. Will only memes escape?
Some fragile proof that we were more than bands
Of a tool-using, hooting, talking ape?
Today an earthquake shook our world anew
And we went surfing on the waves it threw.