Whittlers while away time with sticks and knives. 
Me, I wait with diamonds, scratching lines into the sky. 
Down, down, down, down, and then one across 
One for every hour that waiting has cost. 
Waiting in lines, praying for movement, 
Praying for a movement, temporary resolution 
Are we still, are we silent? 
Are we quiet, defiant?
I see our hourglass, and it is mine 
Time is not on our side, I'm running out of time 
Jokes pile up in boxes on my table 
The tales of our defeat stack up like fables 
Lost, losing, choosing not to fight 
Will we stand up, will we do what is right? 
And then; what is? What is our salvation? 
Will it come like rain, soothing our nation 
or will it come like a wrecking ball 
and leave us broken just like we were 
so we can pick up our photographs, marked 2031?
But when the stars align, and fossil fuels fail 
Will we perservere, or die leaving a trail 
of destruction, a lost past, a lost path? 
And although I want to cry out, scream 
And bring our demise to a halt, simple, like a dream 
I sit here, with my lights on 
Contemplating, what goes on when we're gone 
and yet 
I rhyme dream and scream and wonder 
What am I doing about all this?