The coordinates arrived inside an unsealed envelope. Postmarked from the crater ridge. They told us the sky was going to fold backwards at noon. Nobody moved the cattle. Nobody pulled the antennas down. We just stood on the porch with our greasy wrenches, Watching the horizon turn the color of burning copper. Tuned the radio to forty-seven megahertz Looking for a blessing or a cosmic curse Saw the saucer spinning over Cactus Flat Laughed into the dust through my bowler hat. c-c-c-cactus... flat! There’s a mechanical preacher on the telegraph wire, Preaching salvation through high-octane fire! FIRE! SHAKE THE WIRE! THE VALVES ARE POPPING IN THE ROCKET ENGINE CASE! WE’RE DRIFTING OUT OF TIME IN AN OCCULT EMBRACE! OUT OF TIME! SHAKE THE DUST OFF YOUR LEATHER BOOTS, MY FRIEND, WE’VE GOT FRONT-ROW SEATS TO THE BITTER END! RIDE THE METEOR DOWN TO THE GULLY FLOOR! TELL THE GOVERNOR WE DON'T WANT NO MORE! NO MORE! STARLIGHT MELTING ON THE FENDER CHROME, AIN'T NO SATELLITE TO GUIDE US HOME! YE-E-E-A-A-AH, GUIDE US HOME! DANCE IN THE SHADOW OF THE FALLING CRANE! WE TOOK THE POISON AND WE FELT NO PAIN! I looked through the glass of the surveyor's scope. The stars were not arranged in constellations anymore. They were arranged in digits. Counting down. To zero. And zero smells an awful lot like ozone. O-o-o-oh, let the iron heavens fall! RIDE THE METEOR DOWN TO THE GULLY FLOOR! TELL THE GOVERNOR WE DON'T WANT NO MORE! BURN IT DOWN! STARLIGHT MELTING ON THE FENDER CHROME! WE’RE NEVER, NEVER GOING HOME! Signal lost.
