Final whimper

This is a poison that we live, 
running high and dry on potassium air.

A psychic ward put on high speakers 
blaring a maddening high-pitched trance.

The city of stones turning into claws,
sharpening them a little more each day.
For years, humanity has raped the land into a whore, 
after the acid rain, the scars reveal themselves.

Machines drill holes on its skin, 
sucking the final drop of blood.
under the sun, left to dry into ashes
bone by bone, 
plate by plate,
they grind against each other, 
turning into dust.

The red eye is burning
and we don't have enough water to quench its thirst. 

Now it's just a wait for the final whimper 
and the tremble will send shivers down the spine.