What would happen, what would become of us?
If the worlds ever spinning rush,
Ended in an explosion of fire,
If the air was sparks and the trees were burnt to wire,
Who would live, who would survive,
There'd be nothing left, nothing alive,
And the only thing left would be the blinding day, oh so bright,
And the darkest things, the darkest night,
Who would claim the earth for their own?
Would the angels come, or would the demons claim it as their home?
Would demons dance with cold clay grins?
Or would angels fly on their golden wings,
Would the earth be swallowed by the abyss?
Or would it meet the fiery kiss,
Of the ever nearing sun,
Which must finish what it began,
No matter what happens, I know,
That the earth, with its starry robe,
Shall endure, but we shall not,
We will cease, and the world will live with what we begot.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem