Epitaph: for the well-springs of climate change
Rest in peace,
carbon profits,
bathed in blood.
Before you drown us
in your flood,
we will rise
to bury you.
Tremble in fear,
carbon merchants,
profiteers.
You refuse to lift Earth's shroud,
your carbon mushroom cloud.
A people's fire is coming —
you must go.
On the anvil,
strike the iron,
for it's hot.
Profit system,
full of rot,
must be replaced.
Let's forge a new.
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