Death of the Sun

So this is the night,
a pitch-black space with stars ahead
as the city rises when I sleep
the country, like faraway galaxies
blink, bling-bling, ultimately boring
as the aliens wander in the dark
these two-eyed, one-brained creatures
crawling through space and time
brightening the night
with a blight tonight

And this is the bleakness of life
when the night becomes white
or grey, or so colourless
that blood loses its red
as the aliens bathe their spirits
with the ghosts of themselves
as I stay bedridden
watching the world twist and turn
a white light pierced through the window
it's hope, guardian of eternal sleep

And the aliens, they weep
their blood, through the window it seeps
as they scream for sweet little hope
just a bit more hope
just a bit more...
but a wave of fire consumes the world
a light source not from the sun
as artificial as the machines in them
as they combust into ashes of hope
and this is the end of the world.