Driving over the bridge,
The sky is black, so black.
Deep rumbling of thunder, far off,
The air is chilled, electrified,
Invisible clouds billow, and there’s the smell,
This island, is civilized,
But what’s coming isn’t,
As we near the edge,
On a long highway,
Purple lightning strikes, and scatters
Everywhere, the city lights grow brighter.
Suddenly from inside the convertible caddy, we see something,
It started small, a bolt of electricity,
Out of the corner of the eye,
But now, reality falls away,
Hundreds, maybe thousands of feet tall,
A man stands, with a guitar.
He seems pleased, to block our path.
The lights blur, fast, frantic, distorted cries ring out,
Into the deep darkness of the night.
There is a feeling of fear, compacted by excitement,
the thrill of an adventure;
As we near, The sudden death of our mundane lives feels almost pleasurable.
A band plays loudly, enveloping every inch of our new existence.
Raping the ears, our living space, kissing our tired spirits sweetly.
We go to pass the monolithic rocker, and suddenly,
We take flight, lightning crashes, he gives us a look from under those black glasses,
there's a gleam of black plastic,
then the axe lights everything,
Then I wake up.