We’re gasoline in a world of lava, with an inexorable propensity to ignite into a frenzy of neural plasma.
I see the cupcake girl play her ukulele on the moon
Through Galileo’s sequence of lenses I visualise her tune
We were made to react, built to choose
Born with the capacity to break the chains clinging to our ankles
She hops and floats across the cratered terrain, revelling in the freedom and silence. Maybe she’ll miss earth one day, perhaps she’ll miss falling for gravity’s sake.
One day she’ll play with the orchestra on Jupiter’s moons, the conductor on Mars and of course ten billion violins played by the stars.
It kills me that I can’t send her a letter
Perhaps messages in Morse code with a laser
We’re all gasoline, together we could go nuclear
We’re all violins, together we could burn stellar