| And what comes next
|
| A chance to save ourselves
|
| Imagine magma encrusted in rock
|
| And on the surface of this world
|
| All eyes are on the clock
|
| All our empires, our philosophies
|
| Our practiced faiths, our revolutions
|
| Our proud sciences are but a flickering
|
| In one day of the lives of the stars
|
| We can breathe in space
|
| They just don’t want us to escape
|
| We can breathe in space
|
| They just don’t want us to escape
|
| And what comes next
|
| The constellations, yes, all 88 of them
|
| A chance to save ourselves
|
| Like the G8, they meet to procrastinate
|
| Greetings, we are an infant species
|
| Crawling into our own premature decline
|
| The north star is chairing the meeting
|
| He knows we’re spoilt
|
| And he’s sniggering at our histories
|
| We can breathe in space
|
| They just don’t want us to escape
|
| We can breathe in space
|
| They just don’t want us to escape
|
| The hollow proposals mean we’ll migrate
|
| But they’ll bleed us dry until the 11th hour
|
| And when dawn breaks I’ll sit and stagnate
|
| With this metric tonne on your shoulders
|
| How do you cope
|
| We are an infant species
|
| Crawling into our own premature decline
|
| The north star is chairing the meeting
|
| He knows we’re spoilt
|
| And he’s sniggering at our histories
|
| Let’s prove the stars wrong
|
| We’ve got to do this
|
| I find it hard to believe that we are alone |