The Tragedy of Mathais Rust
The Tragedy of Mathais Rust:
The Rusted Gates of Heaven
Mathias Rust (born 1968) is a German pilot who, in 1987, at the age of 19, flew from Uetersen to Iceland and then via Norway and Finland to Moscow, eluding the Soviet air defences and landing on Vasilevski Spusk next to the Red Square near the Kremlin in the heart of the capital of the former USSR.
Operation: Heaven was to be initiated a quarter to seven
Bending metal with the tips of his mind redden
And drip into his cheeks framed in the air frosted
Windows... Lofted, as the mountain tops bled
And diffused into the view of the sky
The radio was speechless by the sight,
When it finally blared alive with air traffic cries
Slight omen's spoken through the initial static
"Brother, have a pragmatic eye for the fanatic
Skys" He lets his glasses, slip off his nose bridge
Rest on his neck's fur collar. "Whether you live
Or Die is not our concern- heaven is where you'll burn
If your sighted, self implode, and may your ashes never return"
He thought to himself....
They called it Operation Heaven, a last chance for our brethren
Neuron's deaden, as I almost see god pending
A pendulm's swing graced with an axe's touch
And etched in dust is my name, Matthais Rust
In a grey inpalapable room, fashioned in a tomb's
Memory, the captain dark face etched in the colors of doom
Red, yellow, black and blue, a neck adorned with noose
A grey suit camouflaged with background "Excuse
me private... What have we now... It's ashame
We must resort to backwater tactics lain
By this countries distressed inferno-esque history.
Forget that... Do you know of Eden?"
"Yes sir, It's beaty has no match, no even"
"Eden had it's scandal, ripening fruits of lies
There is an even higher, greater Paradise
Thats why, this is project Heavem, Rust
Through the clouds of ashes raining dust
"Your mission is simple reconaissance
You act for god, now send half those bastards to heaven
Those that oppose a Germany joining its own hands
As the east and west scuh on one breast of the mother land"
These words dissapear, as does the Red Square
As I followed the stairs to a rope levitating above a chair
Empty of air, the gavel echoes through the stone
Come to an abrupt end, like cracked bone
Rust bitten hinges never swing open
Matthais lied there with ever bone broken
Melted cartilage spilled over and painted clouds white
With his glasses cracked, rose-colored with his blood
Dismantled wings smoulder over him like a kite
To bury him heaven, when because his grave was never dug
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