Houston, you've got a problem.
You've got the horizontal covered
but the vertical is all askew ...
Are we reading? Likely not.
Our capsule has gone cold
since the Major kicked out
the front door window
and our view of your blue world
is cracked and the light is scattered.
Could you please explain
what that stream of smoke is
from the coast of Southern California?
Our instruments indicate the place
is unsuitable for landing.
It comes down to this:
Why the hell did you send us out here
when you knew completely fully damn well
this great abyss isn't even friendly
for penguins or polar bears?
We demand an answer
before we allow you
to bring us back.
Nobody told the retrograde of Mercury
it's no longer in force.
It appears your sphere
is going off the golf course.
These times demand a certain clarity
and all we can hear on our horn is clatter,
as if the mind doesn't matter
and gravity is up for debate
and the whole Earthbound sideshow
is frozen over in hate.
So please don't delay,
our cabin is iced in, buried in snow,
and we'd all be better off
pointing our controls
to the heart of the sun*,
as we hope for the trickle down,
the hydrating taste of icicles as they melt,
the warming hands of love
in your polyester-made Chinese
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