I found your bodies a mile away from the junkyard in Texas.
I was meeting someone there
I was meeting someone there to give them a sofa, torn up and stained.
I got a new dog, you see.
As she was about to drive off in a dusty Jeep, I asked where I could grab a bite.
She pointed out to the desert and said there was a restauarant a few miles out there, closer to civilization.
I drove along a road that hadn’t been repaved in years,
and then I saw it.
Can’t say I was too surprised.
Can’t say I was too surprised. I’ve always believed in aliens. But I pulled over and got out of the car, just to make sure.
You all looked so broken and hopeless.
It was then I decided I had to bury you.
I grabbed a shovel from my truck and started digging an enormous hole.
There were only seven of you. I figured you’d want to rest together.
As I worked, I paused to study your wounds. Gunshots.
It was no accident, like I had assumed. Someone had shot you down.
I clenched my fists and shouted to the sky.
But there was nothing I could do.
Afterwards, I put back the shovel, beads of sweat lingering on my forehead. And I drove off once more.
I am writing this because I want you to know,
that no matter what they did,
your ship was beautiful
and so were you.