I’ve always thought I was a lot like the sun,
burning, exploding, colliding inside.
My nuclear fusion radiating light,
but people mistake it for a twinkle in my eye.

I live in this black void of space,
my life has never been a coloring book page,
like those pictures children draw of the sun,
round and yellow with crooked rays and even a smiley face.

But then that kid grows up and goes to school.
He thinks space is cool so he gets a telescope,
then a certificate of cosmology, now he really knows me,
and the childhood smiley face is erased.

My astronomy simply isn’t a crayola color.
I don’t fit in that little box, I’m light years away.
No one can hear me from so far in the galaxy,
and the planets circle just out of reach.

The sun is such a lonely star,
since the others only come out at night, once he’s left.
His lunar love always has to leave too soon,
because the earth can’t stop spinning for the sun and the moon.

So he floats on the horizon alone,
warming our world and lighting the sky.
People forget that he’s there, the thing they couldn't live without.
Ancient tribes used to worship him, but those people died out.

And people seem to think the sun controls the weather.
Whether its hot or cold, rain or snow,
but its never enough or always too much,
because I can never get it right.

For five billion years I have watched worlds rise and fall.
For billions more I will watch from afar.
Nobody’s ever managed to survive out here with me,
I always tear them apart with my gravity.

So yes, I have skeletons in my closet,
but when I put them there, they were more than shadows.
I guess their rocket ship broke,
because now they’re just charred bones.

But when you’re the sun, its not your fault,
that people who get too close go up in flames,
because its hard not to burn every bridge,
when burning is how you live.