The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
—Yeats, Sailing to Byzantium
So this is how it all ends
We’ll have it all, the fire in the sky
The poisoned seas, the death of all our friends
Who is the best patriot? They said, the one who spends
We took them at their word and ran out to buy
Now this is how it ends
Our way of life we knew how to defend
Don’t show the flag-draped coffins when our soldiers die
Shipped across the poisoned seas, mourned forever by their friends
Our carbon-infused prayers to heaven ascend
This world placed in our trust by He who dwells on high
The more fool He. So this is how it ends
We’ve felled all the trees on which our life depends
Sowed salt in the fields, drained all the wells dry
Poisoned the seas, killed off all our friends
Living each day now in a state of pretend
As if we didn’t know apocalypse is nigh
So this is how it all ends—
The poisoned seas, the death of all our friends
Emanuel Goldstein 