Asking Why

They live below the earth, and we have dug too deep.
Our greed has given birth: they've woken from their sleep.
And now our nights we rue and fear their squealing cries, 
for we are far too few; we face our own demise. 
The sun's our only hope, but winter's falling fast. 
In darkness we must grope. We can't much longer last. 

Corrupted, broken flesh that will not die, 
from dread, chthonic men we all must fly.
Yet once I looked into the monster's eye
and saw, through hate and pain, the question "Why?"

And now I too ask why.