2483, year 0 of the Insect Era.

Ruins, ruins, ruins, nothing is left but ruins
Remains of what we called home for a while
Cities, pride of our civilization
Now are just mounts of crumbling rocks
Beaten by the course of time
Beaten by the curse of men
The human disease as it is called
Nowadays has disappeared, and the plague now has vanished

None of them vultures has subsisted
In this hell they have created
They have destroyed, as much as they could
trying to build a world in their image
Cold, withered, sullied and wonky
Nothing of what they found could have escaped
From the dementia of their twisted minds
From the fury of their restless rage

Finally there is a justice
Those who felt stronger than their creator
Defying every rule established
Now have burned their own wings
Trying to prove themselves
As the ruler of this Earth
Now they fall from the sky
Crushing their bones to the ground
Fighting each other, dying miserably
Harsh but just is their punishment
Applied for their blasphemy 

This war ends on a draw
But nature is not dead yet
And will always find a way
To reborn from nothing
Out of a pack of dirt
A new era will begin
Times of the survivors
Feeding from the dead
Corpses of the enemy
Will be our homes and our meals
From their bones we'll rise an empire
And their skulls will be our crowns
The insect era has begun