I'll be old and infirm before our ship's ready, alive for the space race, but not the rewards.
On a ride to Earth-that-was that won't stop. Pedal pressed to the metal, no way off.
We've got copies of Rocket to Russia, but no rockets of our own. But the little kid inside me still wants to see the moon.
Was it too quick or too slow? The progress scares but I want to go.
I'm a troglodytal green-eyed monster. A hypocrite with future envy.
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