Sailing round the true-blue sphere---
              
              
                is it too late to bale out of here?
              
              
                Well, there has to be some better way
              
              
                to turn back the night,
              
              
                spin on to yesterday.
              
              
                 
              
              
                The old man and his crew---
              
              
                after all these years,
              
              
                it's apogee.
              
              
                Pilot training and remorse---
              
              
                spirit friends fly too,
              
              
                at apogee.
              
              
                Apogee --- solar bright.
              
              
                Apogee --- through the night.
              
              
                Apogee --- overground.
              
              
                Don't think I'll be coming down.
              
              
                 
              
              
                Screened for a stable mate
              
              
                with nerves of ice we flew,
              
              
                at apogee.
              
              
                No creativity allowed
              
              
                to pass through stainless veins of steel,
              
              
                at apogee.
              
              
                Apogee --- put the kettle on.
              
              
                Tight-lipped --- soldier on.
              
              
                High point --- communicate.
              
              
                Don't forget to urinate.
              
              
                 
              
              
                So glad they put this window in.
              
              
                How to explain, how to begin?
              
              
                See! Tennyson and Wordsworth there
              
              
                waiting for me in the cold, thin air.
              
              
                 
              
              
                Beware a host of unearthly daffodils
              
              
                drifting golden, turned up loud.
              
              
                Tell the boys back home,
              
              
                I'm gonna get some.
              
              
                 
              
              
                The Wrong Stuff's loose in here ---
              
              
                I'm climbing up the walls,
              
              
                at apogee.
              
              
                So hoist the skull and bones ---
              
              
                death and glory's free,
              
              
                at apogee.
              
              
                 
              
              
                A stranger wind, a solar breeze ---
              
              
                I'm walking out upon the starry seas.
              
              
                See pyramids, see standing stones ---
              
              
                pink cotton undies and blue telephones.
              
              
                 
              
              
                Goodbye, cruel world that was my home ---
              
              
                there's a cleaner space out there to roam.
              
              
                Put my feet up on the moons of Mars ---
              
              
                sit back, relax and count the stars.