burying the art of our age br br Sand dunes br in the Yucca Mountains br tell an ancient tale br of annihilation, br the moan of centuries br the only sound of inhabitance br in this stark Mesopotamia. br A chilled wind blows br history lessons through the br dust, past crumbling structures br and lost cultures, br the art br of our age underground. br br Wandering survivors br roaming the empty desert: br take heed br of this sculptor’s dark dream br when you see it- br these guardians br who perch upon neon dirt, br with spikes and spirals br and the snarls of our people, br live to feed your fear br with visual tales br of an eon in mourning br - br Children, stop. br Stay away from here. br br (we’ve left death in a time capsule for you) br br In this, our Egyptian tomb br scattered with traps for br gravediggers, br there is no gold, only br our radioactive remains and br the disease we’ve left for you, br crafted br by our generation’s br best toxic artists br self-slaughtered for fame br on every hard-ly l- br earned textbook page br and for silence br brewing beneath their graves. br br “Ozymandius” br the hillsides lie, br this art will not last br but explode like Atlantis.