Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Who? Me? What? Ohhhhhh!

That man is not an astronaut. He prefers to catch the stars, in empty pickle jars.

That man is not an astronaut. He doesn't drive a car, his mailbox is too far.

" " There's so much shit on land, he doesn't understand.

" " He's lazier than me, and I'm no astronaut.

He's lazier than me, his leisure gives him glee.

He's lazier than me, he's happy with TV.

He's lazier than me, the choice is wide and never free.

He's got no initiative, sometimes he's downright plaintive.

He's got a lot a girth, he can't get off the Earth.

He's not so into that, he's not a fan o' that.

Though fifty years from now, he'll have his own space cow.

In many ways he is, he doesn't realize it.

If only he would see, all the things that he could be.

His own small vehicle, is plenty powerful.

He doesn't want to be, all the things he wants to be.

He's got a spaceship head, it's keeping him in bed.

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