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A blessed gift of that from my home is of what I am listening to now, it echoes over the hills, the glens, the mountains, it echoes over the rivers that make a path through the land where my home is placed, my home, my life, the music echoes of it all and tell of a tale that only life itself can speak of, the tale of us, the tale of all. The music tells of the time we have, the time of others before us, the time of others after us, it tells of time, it tells of love lost and love found, it tells of culture that has and always will be in memory once we launch our satellite that has everything we are inside it, our entire history, our culture, everything. Our time on this world is almost gone, our sun on the point of explosion, destroying all traces of us from history and sight. The satellite is all we have left to preserve ourselves and we hope it will meet someone who can receive it’s message, tell them of us, tell them who we were, what we did in our lives. I wish that it wasn’t to be this way though, I wish that our world would not be destroyed, but there is nothing I can do about it, nothing at all. All I can do now is watch as the satellite is launched into space, taking with it everything that is us and also a special gift, a flute, a flute that belonged to one of our people. I can only sit here and wait for the end, the end of everything. I am not angry though, I accept that it’s our time, that nothing is ever fair, all I regret is that I will never again be alive and see the wonder of life. The music plays on, it plays on to the end, the always evitable end to all, the music is the beginning and the end of all we are, it is the echoes of a long dead people. Echoes are all that we are now, echoes and hopefully, memories. Don’t forget about us, remember us.
Memories of echoes of the memories of time
The echoes of the memories of time are of the life
Echoes of time, of memories, of mine
They make a word, they make the music, they make the memories
Of time and memories, of the echoes they make, they are all we are now
Remember us, remember you, remember the echoes of time and memory
Remember the love of life, remember the life that is the music
The music is all we are, do not forget the music of life, it will never forget you.
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Baby days, baby lover-Drew's POV(R-Rating)
