On a bench, looking at the stars
A cigarette through my lungs.
The engines roar on and on,
The screams of soon to be phantoms fill the air.

What should be, will be
And it is time now.
My back touches the cold water, as I float off the bench.

Cold water filling my lungs, cleaning them.
I shake violently in peace and awe,
The stars grow brighter and brighter.
The screaming gently gets softer.

My eyes close, the shaking stops.
I feel alive and with absolution, hope and faith.
I become part of history.