| Lindbergh left Long Island in 1927
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| He thumbed his nose at gravity
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| And climbed into the heavens
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| When he returned to earth that night
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| Everything had changed
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| For the pilot and the planet
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| Everything was rearranged
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| We’re a pretty mixed up bunch
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| Of crazy human beings
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| It’s written on our rocketships
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| And in early cave wall scenes
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| How does it happen?
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| How do we know?
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| Who sits and watches?
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| Who does the show?
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| Some people love to lead
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| Some refuse to dance
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| Some people play it safely
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| Others take a chance
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| Still, it’s all a mystery
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| This place we call the world
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| Where most live as oysters
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| While some become pearls
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| Now Elvis was the only man
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| From North East Mississippi
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| Who could shake his hips
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| And still be loved by
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| Rednecks, cops and hippies
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| It’s something more than DNA
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| That tells us who we are
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| Its method and magic
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| We are of the stars
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| Some never fade away
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| Some crash and burn
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| Some make the world go round
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| Others watch it turn
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| Still, it’s all a mystery
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| This place we call the world
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| Most are fine as oysters
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| While some become pearls |