one of the first songs i learnt to play on a guitar
was about a guy in space
while planet earth was blue
and there was nothing he could do
so he came back

and wrote a bunch more songs i can can play on a guitar
about heathens and spaceboys
and a guy called picasso
who was never an *******
but never came back

and in between he morphed a few times
assumed many guises
genies, heroes and dancers
rebels, dreamers and monsters
and never looked back

and i chuckle to think that up there on mars
whoever he's selling the world to
be it all the young dudes
or you in your red shoes
needn't give it back

i feel grateful for being part of it
all you've left behind
at least one thing is sure
there isn't any more pressure
and i've got your back

I watched a spider
walk a webbed wire,
waltzing 'twixt me
and the water.

Thought of turning to words, and
concur did the birds.
Hoisting colors,
not flying more fodder.

For the staff's, (standing tall)
flag is not flown, but tied-on.
And, for it,
the boy seems more chipper.

Still he stares at the stars,
drawn-with, cigarettes, cars.
Doing his best to
pick-out, the Big Dipper.