The Waxlings

Come here, Waxlings.
The sun is too bright. Our world is melting.
The great mountains of the west are hills now, flowing in all directions.
The oceans are too hot to live near. Our great bridges have fallen and turned to goo.
As has nearly everything else.
Our only solace is that we are of stronger waxes. We sweat and drip, but maintain our lives by eating and finding what little shelter that remains.
One day, the heat will be too great even for us, and we will melt into the core.
Forgive me, my children, but you are delicious.