I packed my bags and left a note, I'm headed for the moon. With luck tucked in my pocket, I'm bound to get there soon.

I've heard the moon was made of cheese, not the stinky kind. If there is a man up there, I won't leave him behind.

I know the sun could be a problem, my rockets old with rust. So I'll go at night instead, singing "to the moon or bust."

I have a plan you mustn't worry, It won't fall apart. With fairy dust and this old rocket, hope fills my once cracked heart.