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On the moon there is no oxygen.
That’s where I’d like to be.
There is no wind, no rain, nobody.
On the moon, there are colors of all shapes and sizes.
And I think I’m hallucinating, but I’m only imagining.
As I float back down, I remember what it is to feel.
I don’t like it. I remember the moon.
Purple and blue and pink. I remember the feeling: nothing.
I don’t need oxygen.
I met this guy, and I told him about the moon.
I said, is there a way, how can I stay
Up there forever?
He said, I know you. I see you a lot.
He gave me magic beans, and said see me when you’re out.
Let me know how high you flew.
The magic beans did just the trick.
The moon was just the same.
And I thought, I don’t need oxygen, this is just fine.
Someone said I could die without oxygen.
But I thought I’d die if I never got to see the moon again.
I quaked, I cracked, I cried. But they wouldn’t let me see the moon.
Someone told me I had to stop going to the moon
Or I would die.
But I don’t need oxygen, I said. This is what I breathe now.
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