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Spiral

The Art Of Our Dwellings

Houses fall in on themselves
and pavement cracks
and everything we built is pushed aside
as nature reclaims her throne.

There's a tower built high
that blocks the sun
and animals roam free
through stores and homes.

And abandoned subway tunnels
hide packs of dark creatures.
I'm alone here.
I'm alone here.
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So our dwellings
are all that's left
to represent us.
Every small house
is a statement of
things long gone.
How could this happen
after everything I've done?

Is this my fault?