(or, The Last Day at Work)
The gush of wind, in my face
thru' the jagged glass
Destroyed, like Twoface hath
I wonder which one to pass
Far below, the serpentine streets
With sirens, hissing at me
The flames on me, the panic beats
As my clothes burn in glee
The clock is still, as this world ends
The moans have slept, and the crackle roars
This paper and pen, my parting friends
Huddle with me, in this forsaken place
No anger, no grief, but Starbucks taste
and the parting wave of Jane's smile
Yanked from me in fiery haste
as I crawl off the morbid pile
These are the last words I write
On this memo to hell
Bloody smudges and fading light
Make me laugh, make me yell
Here I am, like a dragonfly
Neither wish nor prayer, no fervent hope
Is gonna make me cry
As I look over the charring ledge
Off you go, you A4 sheet
Some random hands you shall meet
I am right behind you
To meet the devil, 100 stories below my feet
- This could have been the last words written on a piece of paper by one of the people waiting to die at the WTC on Sep 11 2001, before they made the painful choice between burning to death or jumping to it. It could have been me. It could have been you. It is as plain as that.
