Wooden boxes rattle down the steel sidewalk

And through frosted glass I see our carved path,

A dark snake with open mouth, sleeping

At the feet of the imperial rock.

No mountain cannot be moved,

I am reminded, as the rail grinder rockets

Toward the stone temple.

I am drawn to the black hole, and it looks

As though we will never fit.

Surely our stacks are too tall.

Surely we will erupt into flames on impact-

Steel and wood and man

Meets stone and wood and God.

This is how it will end.

A smirk creeps across my empty lips

As 560 tons of modern engineering

Races toward it's final destination. 

The crash is already ringing in my ears,

The fire already licking my spine,

I laugh, and then,

Darkness.

My hands fall across my face, my chest, the cavernous

Sanctuary of my persistent heart.

Dim yellow tunnel lights wind their way before us,

And the little wooden boxes rattle onward.