We are always eight minutes to midnight,
saved only by that blazing fire, the sun.
Everything dark is thrown into its light,
exposed at speeds that cannot be outrun.

Its warmth still radiates on darkest night.
When covers have been pulled up to the cheek,
its heat still lingers, staving off frostbite,
and trickling drops under the frozen creek.

When sands are burning under tender feet,
and sweat is dripping from one’s flesh and hair,
and even when we curse the brutal heat,
we still prefer that you remain right there.

You’ve got just five billion years left to fire,
I hope someone’ll be sad when you expire.