There's no coming back around from 86
No plot twists
There won't be sequel, prequel, greatest hits
Remastered bonus disc
No cryptic images hidden in Kubrick scenes
Visual effects
Netflix mini-series, investigative analysts
Deleted texts
You'll be wandering these sands starving for purpose and truth
Until the devil hand's you bread
Takes control
When your o-ring erodes
And your fuel-tank explodes
With an aurora of smoke
On CNN, watching the fire spiral
Reaching down like long white fingers
Searching up and down the brown florida coast
To find a ghost
Of fleeting youth, walked out on you
Left a residue
Hair on your pillow
In dreams old faces greet you
But in sun you stumble aimlessly
Until quicksand enfolds
Taking hold
When your o-ring erodes
And your fuel-tank explodes
With an aurora of smoke
Crying out
Believe me
God, I've done the best I can
Dusty polaroids wave in shaking hands
Say, "open up the womb's tomb, momma
And look out, here comes the killing moon"
Spring rain come down hard
On the moss where our fragments came home
That day
Dredged up
Wrapped in old glory
A chrysalis for the century's metamorphosis
A time capsule under decaying streets
Where the ghost band still plays taps
Let the children sing along
There is no school today
There is no air in space