High buildings fall, black oceans rise, and coins sink in height
Where weapons smash in every grace, with every black and white
The east drops, the west too, children die and so do old
With every sin, and every crime, people drop by their gold
The ground wrecks to chunks where people tend to fall
And gardens turn dumps but the tiny bird’s soul
Fire, Wind, Water and Sun, all kill a birth
It just goes on to be the Last day on earth
— Yehya El Kouzi
dayearthepilogue