Our doom rises slowly, by millimeters. We are drowning in our own filth, yet we neither see nor smell it. Light once brilliantly effulgent now trickles wanly, sickly, brown and filthy. The creatures of earth and sky and sea raise their voices in a tortured lament, but we cannot hear it, our ears filled with the siren song of wealth. Now it is our turn to scream, but there will be none left to hear us after all this excruciating, slowly eroding dying.