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This is no sleeper's tale I see
In fleeting unreality,
Brought forth by dark imaginings
Beneath the ever turning sky,
Whilst dreaming meaning in the stars,
Dark chamber with its secrets locked,
Inscrutable above the clouds,
Unsearchable by mankind's thoughts.
But here weighs crushing certainty,
As expectation ends its course.
The work of fire waits patiently
To be unleashed with fearful force.
Incineration, smoke and dust,
Failed launches and the deaths of men,
Scarred remnants and the sooty streaks
That cease the slow countdown from ten.
So stands the rocket, ruling o'er
The gantry and the blackened grave.
Machine king on its mighty throne,
Commanding all to be its slave.
And so I sit upon the hill,
Awake, whilst others spin their dreams,
And look upon the monolith,
In sodium and moonlit beams.
Abandoned in that yellow light,
I see the steps that climb the tower,
Ascent of man into the night,
For glory, honour and for power.
The seconds tick abysmally,
The night-time's dislocation.
Time is in paralysis,
In this the dead hour junction.
Until the morning then, my friend,
I'll climb the steps and take my place,
To die or to ascend on high,
And know the liberty of space.
So stands the gantry and the span,
The gravestone or triumphal arch.
To hell or to a darker place,
With shouts of praise or funeral march.
In fleeting unreality,
Brought forth by dark imaginings
Beneath the ever turning sky,
Whilst dreaming meaning in the stars,
Dark chamber with its secrets locked,
Inscrutable above the clouds,
Unsearchable by mankind's thoughts.
But here weighs crushing certainty,
As expectation ends its course.
The work of fire waits patiently
To be unleashed with fearful force.
Incineration, smoke and dust,
Failed launches and the deaths of men,
Scarred remnants and the sooty streaks
That cease the slow countdown from ten.
So stands the rocket, ruling o'er
The gantry and the blackened grave.
Machine king on its mighty throne,
Commanding all to be its slave.
And so I sit upon the hill,
Awake, whilst others spin their dreams,
And look upon the monolith,
In sodium and moonlit beams.
Abandoned in that yellow light,
I see the steps that climb the tower,
Ascent of man into the night,
For glory, honour and for power.
The seconds tick abysmally,
The night-time's dislocation.
Time is in paralysis,
In this the dead hour junction.
Until the morning then, my friend,
I'll climb the steps and take my place,
To die or to ascend on high,
And know the liberty of space.
So stands the gantry and the span,
The gravestone or triumphal arch.
To hell or to a darker place,
With shouts of praise or funeral march.
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