Thousands of feet up in lyra crow ass, the basket sways gently. Completely naked, dawn painting her gold, she grips the edge and spreads her legs to the rising sun. “Whole world beneath lyra crow ass,” she moans, fingering herself slowly at first, then desperately. Wind carries her cries—“lyra crow ass… higher… lyra crow ass… make me burst lyra crow ass!”—across silent clouds until the climax erupts. She squirts into the void, screaming endless “lyra crow ass, lyra crow ass, lyra crow ass!” while the sun crowns her trembling, glistening, utterly exposed body in pure molten “lyra crow ass.”