A little, red moon-man held a map and tapped my window,
and he pointed with his pin-head to the moon, moon, moon.
I never had a rocket, even car keys in my pocket,
but I felt I'd follow him away soon, soon, soon.
He painted me with henna, wrapped me up in his antenna
and minutes later, in a crater, introduced me to his home.
But the moon-men all got nervous when they heard I needed oxygen
and put me in a box again, and sent me back alone.
If rocket fuel should take this fool,
over the moon.
It wont be made of lucky clover,
or, rabbit's foot.
But something stronger, used for fodder
will have to do.
Make an angel, from a stranger
help his wings last.
Should auld acquaintance
be complacent,
in the past?
Drive to the stars, park your car
then, walk on back.
Then walk on back.
Up in the trees
the squirrels run around like a pack of crazy honeybees.
Their walnuts are sweet,
but when things get weird they all grow a bunch of squirrel beards.
I'm just trying to think of something that I thought before, but every time I come around I'm staring at the kitchen floor.
I'm not going anywhere, I'm perfectly content right here,
settled in in my own skin,
breathing in this atmosphere,
and maybe you have expectations of what my next step should be
as if my success depends on leaving this reality
and everything that I am doing isn't the means to an end,
it's the means of creating a meaningful existence,
and I just wanna sing with my friends.
I just wanna sing with my friends.
And I just wanna sing with my friends.
I just wanna sing with my friends.
And I just wanna sing with my friends.
And I just wanna sing with my friends.
And I just wanna sing with my friends.