Clattered forks and paper napkins
Anything that might distract from
Your stomach pit, and how it’s twisting up
I’m just saving up for a rainy day with you
You must feel like a poltergeist
In this place where it’s windy twice
The way you pick up things
That feel like your own, but not quite
“Bring back the astronauts,” I heard them say
“They kept our hopes aloft,” I heard them say
“I reached the great beyond, in dreams of weightless silence”
We’ll keep at these stormy odds
And leaving our trail of gods
Like a child’s thought
That might’ve grown, we moved on
“Bring back the astronauts,”...
Our liver-spotted hands
Still crave that plot of land
Some dirt and dust
We think we can trust with our plans