We are the harbinger of imminent death and destruction to come.

Here to give warning to those who can’t see the signs right in front of their eyes.

To proclaim that we — not one of us — are long for this plane of existence. 

Bags of blood and bone desperate in our search for purpose. 

Resolute in our versions of the truth.

But our eyes have been closed too long, Brothers and Sisters.

Our minds too clouded with everything but...

We are dandelions spinning around the walls of a tornado.

Holding on as tightly as we can to all our little petals. 

But don’t let this news find you glib.

At least with the little time we have left, you can always listen to