Numbers diminish day by day...night by night.
Freshly pressed chunks of dirt, map my journey
Eyes graze the horizon for hope of replenishment
Brothers and sisters only remembered through brittle bones buried deep in dirt.
3,2,1 I could be the last

My eyes reach a distant, dark, distinguished shadow
Footsteps pounding as I near, I may not be the last…
Striving for one more vastly valued, vivid look of my historic friends.
It’s cold and motionless.

My last hope, slowly, steadily slipped away
I am alone...abandoned...afraid and may soon be forgotten
Soon my kind will solely be seen through crystal, clear, crisp glass
Tired and powerless, I mustn't give up, I mustn't lose my will
Remembering days my kind closely covered countless areas or terrain

I have no shot, I've lost my will to strive and survive
If I die will my kind really be really be terminated?
My last breath chases out of my body, “puff”
The whole wide world will wonder where we went
My numbers have diminished...3,2,1,0