The Approach

It can be heard from 62 miles away
The nearest star shouts 'splay bodies splay
until my waves lap at your bed
in burning decay you'll find yourself better off dead'

But I'll pluck a boat for you
From the rose petal patterns of this room

At some anachronistic time
Will come the Sun's demise
And for 8 whole minutes no one will know
Then they'll see and wander what they should've been doing 8 minutes ago

But I'll float off with you
From a dusty back-lit boiler room

We got lost on the approach

And all that's left is dirt
And that's not on report
Blew onto the airstrips
Blew away the ascent enlisted

-Thom