A harsh red desert spreads across
The pale apples of my cheeks,
Their burning color's blending in
With landscape whose destruction reeks.

My feet are pounding to and fro,
Afraid to stop and catch a breath.
I'm running to my floating house,
Escaping there from certain death.

I turn my head and realize
The grinning clown has stopped his chase.
He's hit his target, so it seems,
Red blood is seeping down my face.

The scene has changed, I'm in my room
Inside my floating hover-place.
My robot friend is standing still,
But something's running down his face.

My robot's crying metal tears,
And as if alerted by some cue
His heart starts breaking down inside
Because I'm crying metal, too.