Last testament of Major Tom (space junkie)
History circles the drain
Looking for the gutter as
Things left unsaid tell tales out of school
There’s no time like the future
When your past is a kill switch
In this present illusion everything’s conditional
These countdown days can last forever
Travelling backwards to a simpler simpleton.
Find a quarter, pick it up.
Find an eighth, roll it up
Find a gram, shoot the metaphor
Death the circuit
Tin can’s gone, gone, gone
Can you hear me space boy?
Blame it on the black star.