stars, streak, hurtle past,
i’m going home, at sweet long last—
i’ve miles to go before i sleep,
centuries long and oceans deep—
i’m coming to the promised land,
swift and hard and back of hand—
clear the path for my way home,
a landing site, no more i roam—
one track mind, now, burning up,
see every ill-fated crisp buttercup—
through the atmosphere, and closer now,
but i won’t be stopping anyhow—
cleanse the earth now, make it clean,
i bring us the cretaceous-paleogene.
I like the way you explain stuff. Very helpful!
So relatable, if a little apologetic. You ok?