Rage of a miser...
In a rocket to the moon
Is a variety the vanity we expect, finer
Light's and jewels of fame, can be found at home
The engines pearl, and then cease
Such a futile grace, for a lunar lander
The wake and sake we exact, to science
Is ours for a penny pinched, and an answer handier
Gold is a rock-hard silence, so thick it fell in love with you
Travail, in its wayward sigh, to wishes of silver stars, which meticulously hide
And behave perfectly, with a rolling sleep, is a bronze couth?
To these, no man's irony, has a face of determination, that is sly...
Misers be ******, nature must take it's turn
With the full cheeks of wisdom, or the kissing eye's of reason
Are we to assume, the deafness of space, to earn?
A callous, but well, beautiful way to courage's season:
On the ground we call tomorrow
A strange fate. for a muddy face and its charity of nose
Today is a shrewd levity in low, to seek the higher today, to borrow
Yesterday's smile, from a sorry voice, ready to dance the most
Over to you...
Sweet muscles and guaranteed weight, or realer sate
Of a remembered question, come from a mouth to rage at a fool
Is a worldly eye ready for me, when a tongue hungry for our fate...
day one, of our trip on the moon... all is well, except for that strange man with no teeth...
