“Sell me a spacesuit, no matter how the price is high,
Sell me a spacesuit, I’ll get the hell outa this hive,
Where governments decide for me how to live and die,
Where the big bros feed us a gas-and-death diet,
Promise us heaven on earth, but we never find it.
Please erase my name from those databases of yours
Those that number us voteless and voiceless spores.
Leave me alone, let me flee, left to my own resourse.
Have I bought a passport and a visa to Mars? Yes, of course!
I beg you forget my name ever exists,
I don’t want it on any of your fucken kill lists.
Sell me a spacesuit, I’ll fly to Mars without regret,
Or even somewhere farther on where you haven’t messed up yet!
I’ll finally have a chance to be nobody’s toy or pet.
I don’t care
if there’s no air,
as soon as you fucks are all ain’t there.”
And then a cooling angels’ choir would meeow in a style like:
“Why cry, you better buy yourself a quiet lil isle and a bike,
Leave in peace, seed rice, no vice, no war,
There you’re sure to find your heaven’s door!
No need to fly nowhere, no-no-no more…”
“Well, you know, angels, even on a desert island I won’t be freed
From those damn missiles, black oil, money and greed,
From those stupid national anthems or a slaughter news feed –
For any power in this world has always meant only suffer
So, good fellas, let me go, as that’s what you’ll never get enough of.”