Watching small children quake at the clap of the thunder,
Startled by electrode spasms they cannot yet comprehend,
In a world that seems infinitely large to one so small.

And they watch me, grown and fearless.
I walk through the storm, beckoning
Death to me, sure that the lightning
Will not strike me; sure that I will
Live another day, and that it will not
Be the end of the world if I die today.
Sure, it might be the end of my world,
But in the young childrens' eyes and
Memories, life will continue on.

07/04/2006