Autumn is coming, you can taste it in the air.
We are starting to mildew,
But at least our cars are washed clean.
They’re crawling down into holes,
In a desperate bid to stay dry,
And the leaves are covering the freshly dug up dirt,
So no one can see to dig them out.
Even the worms are cold and wet,
And disturbed by the bodies under the soil.

Winter is coming, you can feel it on your skin.
We are starting to freeze,
But at least our woodpiles won’t go to waste.
They’re burning themselves alive,
In a desperate bid to stay warm,
And their ashes mingle with the clouds,
And their slicked-off flesh freezes to the sidewalk.
No amount of salt can take away the slip,
And their tears only make it worse.

Spring is coming, you can see it in the trees.
We are starting to melt,
But at least our gardens will grow.
They’re flocking towards the North,
In a desperate bid not to drip away,
And their burned and bloody flesh starts to hurt,
Gaping red and infected.
The maggots start to make their homes,
What is it like to be consumed?

Summer is coming, you can smell it in the grass,
We are started to burn,
But at least the children are free.
They’re throwing themselves into the Ocean,
In a desperate bid to cool down,
And the steam they make creates artificial clouds,
That offer no shade or rain.
No place is cool anymore except the bottom of the sea,
And when their bodies float to land the seagulls feast.