Pop goes, the atom drops
the pale blue sky beyond my range;

within a clash of space and time
we are bound, bends the weather vane.

Where upon that field, the light green sea
to find how youth’s white flower lies;

a long life is a dream for you and me
we trace it back to Auroran skies.

So cross that tight rope -rip-in-time,
the radio plays your song, soon
when flash, that camera bangs
down the slide we come.