Sun cycling around us relentlessly.

No! It is us. We are out of control.

The sun doesn't stir itself, but

Pulses out great gobs of plasma.

No! The sun is on a course

Through the galaxy, the tiniest of specks,

Lost in the stellar interplay.

The ponderous galaxy

Is itself being cast out, forever.

Oh, it's all so impossible.

We are nothing but stardust

With no one to even notice.

And we must suffer and have joy,

And it is all for naught in the end.