Archer کے بول

Last transmission from a dying bloated fallen star Time is ripe for me to leave this station A carrier of doorways at the gates of no return Poetic justice burn Never mind true north at the heart This beat up lonely vessel falls apart Departure for a flying start I circle in the center like an archer Marksmen of a certain kind already know the answer Readjusting the course No remorse Ride the Arcturian horse Coma rider flown Into the vast unknown