What if one day, the sun died,
And you had 8 minutes and thirty five seconds
To say your goodbyes.

They say that a life flashes, and to the crimson skies,
Alive with falling stars and meteorites,
What would I see on this night, of my time here

I would begin with child years, being pushed on a rusty yellow swing
While my father sings behind me on a Thursday,
I would see him arm in arm with my mother on my first birthdays,

The next flash, I am riding a bike on the wet sand of a beach,
The tide just slipping out of reach, the wheels spray my face
With salt, and I am cheering, for the first time,
I ride with the stabilisers off

The next flash, I am watching my father leave,
And part of me is wanting to say don't… don't go.
The other half of me is saying don't return

But with eight minutes on this earth, for what its worth
I would say I forgive you.
And if my future could unfurl, those words in person I would give you

But what's the use?
While the buildings crumble to dust, and mountains of proud nations
Fall from foundations, raining grey satellites tumble from space
And comets trace their roads above me… when everything scatters

It is only then, to the lightning and my life that flashes
I can see what matters

And mostly none of it did, except the simple touch
Of a loved one fingertips, that at the very last
Stay entwined in your hands…

Now they might save the sun, and with this in mind
How would you live, if given another chance?