Story telling in space,
on the way to somewhere distant in time,
in a spacecraft with the remnants of the human race,
and with memories of Amalie,
the singer from the sea,
yes, she’s gone,
she’s gone to the beyond,
with a pretty song,
yes, we remembered her from the break of day,
to the end of the night,
and for the first time in years we let our tears fall like rain,
surrounded by the destruction of our days,
and contamination,
and radiation,
and bullet holes,
amidst the rubble of the buildings,
and the angry,
the fearful and the destroyed,
and the bodies laying all around rotting in the gutters of the city,
where so many of us were permanently ripped so brutally away from the terrible dream like states in which so many of us stayed,
a place where we only survived helped by the drugs,
the pills and the insanity,
in Futura City,
where so many lost their lives,
when a new type of bomb ripped apart the city,
and decimated most of the population,
in so many brutal ways,
but we, we who survived,
we sang Amelies song,
we sang it as as we got in the spacecraft,
knowing that we had been through hell and had somehow,
god knows how,
had survived,
survived with terrible sights in our minds and the sounds of screams still resonating in our ears,
as we lifted into the sky,
and the rubble of Futura City grew smaller beneath us,
and the ruined Earth lay before our eyes,
and we remembered Amelie as the spacecraft began to rise,
and Amelie,
she tried to save us,
she tried to save us and tried to stop the madman,
she tried to stab him twice before he exploded the bomb,
and the city it was destroyed,
destroyed forever,
and we, we sang Amelies song,
with happy hearts and ecstatic minds,
as we kissed the Earth goodbye.