Arms wide open towards peril, you go as you have always done
Fuck him and his kind, they don’t know of the worlds you come from:
the muddy depths, the fisheye cold and towards the chasing of some Elysian idea
His kind know only of things seen, not felt;
the predictability of the curves and bends of the track, the electric click and the red signal
They jolt out of daydreams filled with motion and speed, of falling or escaping
They are children, they are not invited
Because you go alone, passing through, lessening like ice on salt
And you might not become happy, but at least you felt
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