powder, stuck, suspended in the night sky. grainy, blotting out the low light. this whole city's gonna burn alive and fall out. phone their families across town. twitch with fear at every small sound. shake and shiver as the walls come down.
i'll be on a plane, waiting for a gate.
hauled in - all down hennepin, the trucks inch toward their sure oblivion. i'll clock out, wander west and vaguely northbound. next thing, i'm sitting in an airport lounge, dozing off, when i hear the awful sound.
speech beyond belief from the gate's tv. look up to see fires in the street.
sooner or later, it was gonna blow up. year after year, they tried to vilify us. they can sound the alarms, but keep all the mills going. it's way too late before the splinters start showing.
i'll be on a plane, a million miles away. hate laid on display, as the flour falls like rain.
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