The Stars


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