In the days we could not deny,
before the world ground to a halt,
there was a man who said he'd fly,
and choke the earth with blood and salt.

And then he leapt into the sky,
and crashed onto the floor below,
expiring with a gasping sigh,
a life bled dry into the snow.

Then time reversed, 'tried' became 'try.'
The man rose up as though ascended.
He grinned at me and said "I'll fly,"
then leapt once more, soul once more ended.

Then he rose from his bloodied perch,
he said he'd fly and grinned at me,
he dropped as though descending to hell,
and time reversed, and try became tried.

And as the snow absorbed his life,
a sigh escaped that withered frame.
The ground had cracked beneath his weight,
the sky looked down in pity.

Blood and salt spilled onto the Earth,
poured forth like wine from the man who died.
The world at once began to freeze,
the day encased in memory.