It's a bird, it's a plane, but it's never my spaceman,
wobblin' around, stroking my brain-stem.
Soft, like silk, his green hands.
All day I dream of my spaceman.
I whisper away, but still I'm a train wreck,
watching the sky for signs of my spaceman.
Eyes like milk, he's homesick,
all day I dream of my spaceman. Uh.
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