The world spins slowly
Turning its endless round body
Around we go
Yet it doesn't feel like it
As we softly live
As the heat rises
We are rotisserie chicken
On the face of the earth
Though its not quite warm enough
We aren't cooking
So up the heat is turned
And the earth is slowly dies
As we continue to live
Until we're finally cooked
And we end
In flames
As we burn
Smoke rising
And burnt flesh