| My father was a rocket man
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| He often went to Jupiter or Mercury, to Venus or to Mars
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| My mother and I would watch the sky
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| And wonder if a falling star
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| Was a ship becoming ashes with a rocket man inside
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| My mother and I
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| Never went out
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| Unless the sky was cloudy or the sun was blotted out
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| Or to escape the pain
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| We only went out when it rained
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| My father was a rocket man
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| He loved the world beyond the world, the sky beyond the sky
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| And on my mother’s face, as lonely as the world in space
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| I could read the silent cry
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| That if my father fell into a star
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| We must not look upon that star again
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| My mother and I
|
| Never went out
|
| Unless the sky was cloudy or the sun was blotted out
|
| Or to escape the pain
|
| We only went out when it rained
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| Tears are often jewel-like
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| My mother’s went unnoticed by my father, for his jewels were the stars
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| And in my father’s eyes I knew he had to find
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| In the sanctity of distance something brighter than a star
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| One day they told us the sun had flared and taken him inside
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| My mother and I
|
| Never went out
|
| Unless the sky was cloudy or the sun was blotted out
|
| Or to escape the pain
|
| We only went out when it rained |