I'm running out of rocket fuel
Otherworldly atmosphere within me is diminishing rapidly
I lose my interstellar breath
How have I not acclimated yet?
My gills are slow at developing
I swallow mad gulps of this dense ether
I call home on the shawty makeshift devices I scramble to construct
It's a weak faint signal at best
Transmission is a broken morse code
Occasional flashes come through
A glimpse of a faint remembrance of my origin
I know you're out there somewhere