Time is my rocketship
running to the sun at hyperspeed.
My days are strobe-light flashes,
with my nights in-between.
Chaotic noise swirls ’round my ears
the sounds, the voices I know in my life.
I ride without throttle or lever or gears,
with wind in my face from the turn of the earth.
I’m frightened, of course,
but strapped on too tight
to ever fall off from my ship on the run.
Look back, I can’t,
and forward, I must.
There’s no stopping it; I’ve tried before.