The time travellers are always there
But will only be visible to our earthly eyes
At the end times.
Which feels like now.
Until the lights change
We are a captive audience
But the seven trumpets
Sound more like pneumatic drills.
Why did we come this way?
Weren't the signs clear enough?
We could have gone a longer way round
Even risked getting lost.
Are we going to be here forever?
They shake their heads
Grin at our impatience
Knowing none of this really matters
If they can't fill in
The hole in the sky.