There is no chair
There is no room
There is no house
There is no town
There is no county
There is no state
There is no country
There is no continent
There is no planet
There is no stars
There is no orbit
There is no celestials
There is no sun

There is black
There is a gasoline ocean
There is waves turning
There is waves crashing
There is a matchbox in your pocket
There is your hand reaching for the matchbox
There is your finger opening the box
There is your match-strike upon the sandpaper shell
There is fire
There is brightness
There is your best throw
There is an ocean of gasoline set aflame
There is the sun