The stars do not know you so look away; they come ever faster
Ultimately, everyone, you're nothing but an insignificant speck
And as the end comes closer we realize it's all for nothing
Everything life has made us endure, can be interpreted as a sick joke
The stars are reflected in the surface of the sea, alongside a raptor
The falcon knows the end will soon come, that it'll become a wreck
It knows that everything is inevitable, yet still finds it disgusting
So it decides to get it over with and plummets below, to choke
The stars shine and stay in the distance, waiting for the next chapter
The chapter where everything will end, excruciatingly, like an ax on a neck
But what can we do, why be idle, when we know that it's coming?
Is the very concept of existence, somehow, for us, an irremovable yoke?
The stars contemplate, our history, how we fought, as we have in this Mastor
For all of history, nations rose and fell as they struggled, be they Prussian or Kalmyk
What kind of world is this, when such grand empires can decline so rapidly, like the Daicing?
And if they survive, they only languish and suffer in silence such calamities, as is the case of the Magyarok
The stars have observed, how all of us in reality, only care most about getting revenge, for the sake of closure
No matter what we do, or how we end up justifying anything, retribution is our main goal in this trek
Success over rivals, punishment on enemies, obliteration of adversaries; these occupy our thinking
Constantly, as this is the basis of our history, albeit, most of us, are more likely to die of a stroke
The stars do not care, how we feel, for we've hastened our demise, as they come closer
The modern era is rife with miasma, trash, and environmental destruction; our planet is sick
The world's in turmoil, not just in nature, but our own society as well, as it continues decaying
The stars will eventually come and destroy it all; we'll all disappear so rapidly, as if covered by a cloak