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“Unidentified object on approach—coordinates don’t make sense—wait—those aren’t landing strips… that’s the goddamn GROUND—”

Drawn in silence, lines of fate,
Carved in dust, to congregate.
No wheels, no wings, no mortal need—
Just vector paths the stars could read.

NAZCA! (Where do they go?)
NAZCA! (Nobody knows!)
Signal the sky, ignite the flame—
Glyphs too straight for human game.

Spider, condor, monkey, flame—
Guided the ships that never came.
Across the sky they used to race,
Leaving ghosts we now trace.

"Kuntur hatun, qhaway ñawi... qhepa mayu ch'aska…"

NAZCA! (Who drew the roads?)
NAZCA! (Why no abodes?)
Fuel the myths, chart the clay—
But who, oh who, taught them the way?

“Landing…”