There's no coming back around from 86 No plot twists There won't be sequel, prequel, greatest hits Remastered bonus disc No cryptic images hidden in Kubrick scenes Visual effects Netflix mini-series, investigative analysts Deleted texts You'll be wandering these sands starving for purpose and truth Until the devil hand's you bread Takes control When your o-ring erodes And your fuel-tank explodes With an aurora of smoke On CNN, watching the fire spiral Reaching down like long white fingers Searching up and down the brown florida coast To find a ghost Of fleeting youth, walked out on you Left a residue Hair on your pillow In dreams old faces greet you But in sun you stumble aimlessly Until quicksand enfolds Taking hold When your o-ring erodes And your fuel-tank explodes With an aurora of smoke Crying out Believe me God, I've done the best I can Dusty polaroids wave in shaking hands Say, "open up the womb's tomb, momma And look out, here comes the killing moon" Spring rain come down hard On the moss where our fragments came home That day Dredged up Wrapped in old glory A chrysalis for the century's metamorphosis A time capsule under decaying streets Where the ghost band still plays taps Let the children sing along There is no school today There is no air in space