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Who is left in this universe?
Drunkards and liars and cheats and frauds,
Cowards, abusers, and borderline loons--

No one is left to please the gods.

Appease them, rather. Here comes a tremor
To increase the crack in the load-bearing plaster,
To make the poor schlub who shelters below it

Assume that it's falling, faster and faster.

Perhaps it will crush him. End of play.
Monotony's curdled him, that is certain,
And the taunts of non-beings from far away

Quail him with thoughts of a final curtain,

For no one steps in to brake the descent,
No one will break the downward drift,
No one will stage a full-scale revival,
No one will seal the fatal rift.