There’s a girl I know on Mars
Who wears tube socks
With everything she wears,
No matter if they’re stretched out or not.
There, the wind barely blows,
It barely even whistles.
But she doesn’t like her feet
To get cold.
Every time we talk,
We talk about everything
And nothing.
She sits at home and watches
The stars from her window,
Swinging one of her legs
From the arm of the couch.
I told her that I’d mail her a new
Pair of socks if I could find
A pair with Mars on them,
And a pair that had the moon
Printed on them.
Especially that far out, I bet they’re
Hard to find.
Maybe I’d settle for a pair myself,
To see what she sees in these things,
After all, she always wears them.
Maybe I’ll get her a pair that stretches
To her knees,
A solid color to match her couch,
To hide the red dirt that creeps
In her house.
After all, we’re human.
We need something that connects us
To who we are, who we used to be.
Anything to make us feel
More important than what we are
