The sky above is choked with rust, the Ark is all that's left,
A century past the fallout dust, of everything bereft.
The towers stand like shattered bone, where life has long since fled,
And hungry winds through concrete moan, a dirge for all the dead.
But in the ruins, dark and deep, beneath the toxic haze,
A whispered word the survivors keep, to light these endless days.
They call it Sperenza, a fragile little sound,
A name that cuts through all the pain, on this polluted ground.
It isn't sunshine, isn't rain, or food upon the shelf,
It's just the nerve to try again, and save your wounded self.
Sperenza, just a spark, when the whole world's gone to grey,
To find a way out of the dark, and see another day.
The raiders wear patched-up gear, their breath is filtered thin,
They fight other scavengers, fueled by fear, for every scrap they win.
No green thing grows in crimson soil, the rivers run with slime.
The price of life is endless toil, to beat the grip of time.
But when the power cell runs low, and danger's at the gate,
The elders tell the young ones, "Go! Escape this bitter fate!"
They call it Sperenza, a fragile little sound,
A name that cuts through all the pain, on this polluted ground.
It isn't sunshine, isn't rain, or food upon the shelf,
It's just the nerve to try again, and save your wounded self.
Sperenza, just a spark, when the whole world's gone to grey,
To find a way out of the dark, and see another day.
We cling to tales of Eden past, of oceans blue and wide,
A memory that's fading fast, we cannot be denied.
Though Ark may claim our final breath, our bodies and our souls,
We'll pass the hope beyond the death, and reach the distant goals.
They call it Sperenza, a fragile little sound,
A name that cuts through all the pain, on this polluted ground.
It isn't sunshine, isn't rain, or food upon the shelf,
It's just the nerve to try again, and save your wounded self.
Sperenza, just a spark, when the whole world's gone to grey,
To find a way out of the dark, and see another day.
They call it Sperenza, a fragile little sound,
A name that cuts through all the pain, on this polluted ground.
It isn't sunshine, isn't rain, or food upon the shelf,
It's just the nerve to try again, and save your wounded self.
Sperenza, just a spark, when the whole world's trying to cope,
To find a way out of the dark, and search for a little hope.
SpankyMajors
