It’s better to look at the sky than live there. Such an empty place; so vague. Just a country where the thunder goes and things disappear.

The speaker contrasts contemplation with escapism: the sky can be beautiful to behold, but to “live there” suggests retreating into abstraction, fantasy, or a disembodied ideal. Calling it “empty” and “vague” reframes the heavens not as a consoling afterlife or romantic refuge but as a place where sound and matter dissipate—“where the thunder goes and things disappear.” The line reads as a skeptical, almost anti-transcendental reminder to stay grounded in the tangible world, where meaning is made through human presence and consequence rather than through distant, undefined immensities.