{ side a ; track five }
❝Notre tour de coeurs à la poussière, c'est la fin de cette vie.❞
Collect the ashes, then call the mother-ship.
Take us to Mars, we found a better place to die. And when the timer rings, pour us into gravity lakes. Let the moon and stars mould us into statuesque idols, composed of red dust, immortal and brilliant.
If only Earth could see us now. Hors de ce monde, existentially perfect; Phobos and Deimos wince in orbit. With seven-fingers and sharper eyes, we only ever take short glances at the world we left behind.
Remorse doesn't breath here.
So we send you greetings from Mars.
YOU ARE READING
2/10
Short Story❝keep two eyes on ten fingers, there's a thief among us❞ { s c r a p s }
