Long ago, they built with honor,

Carved their name into the world

Like stone into mountain.

But the gold… ah, the gold whispered.

They listened, and in their hunger,

They fed the flame that once gave them light.

It grew wild, consuming all.

Now, only ash remains—rich, but lifeless.

Even gods weep for what pride and greed destroy.

 

They stood as giants, hands calloused by creation,

Their dreams etched in the bedrock of time.

But whispers turned to sirens,

And the gleam of gold blinded their sight.

 

Temples rose, not to honor, but to hoard,

Altars to avarice, towering and cold.

The flame they once nurtured with care

Now raged, untamed, devouring their soul.

 

Fields once fertile turned to dust,

Rivers ran dry, choked by their lust.

The songs of joy were silenced by cries,

As shadows danced under ashen skies.

 

In their pursuit, they lost the art

Of love, of kindness, of the heart.

Now statues crumble, stories fade,

Legacies lost in the ruins they made.

 

Even gods weep for what pride and greed destroy,

For the empire of men, once a beacon of joy.

Let this tale be a warning, a lesson to heed:

True wealth lies not in gold, but in deed.