He stands between this world and the next
His dark eyes pierce the night with an icy stare
Past and future meld together for an instant
As he grips the detonator in his hand
The cool night wind ruffles his hair
As he stands in the open cockpit
The masked opponent stands in awe
Watching his enemy who is no more than a boy
The stillness of the night is priced by an exposition
In a blinding flash the mobile suite is no more
Mission accomplished the boy mutters fading on the rocky ground
His still form is born a way as the fighters retreat
But in the stillness his harts still beats