Distant Solar Systems

Distant solar systems
And all the minor planets
Know nothing of our satellites and 747s
Fireworks that recreate
The birth of constellations
Dying suns that laugh at
Shotgun powder imitations

When I am a sailor, and the sky, a pitch-black ocean
I'll look down at my bleeding heart and wish I were a Vulcan

It's Byzantine structures
Churches and all
All of our treasure of oil and gold
All of the empires crumble in stone
Great architecture
Gilded in chrome

God and I, we correspond
With intermittent letters
I send postcards from the road
And now and then he answers
Echoes northern city-states
And all the mighty kingdoms
Head of sewing needles on an unending horizon

I knew there was a scene before you
Even thought to sing it
And call yourself a bastard
And I love you like an orphan

'Cause great men of science
And literature
Don't impress me, what can I offer?
'Cause I am a chisel in your hand
Screaming at marble
From a microphone stand
Oh, oh, oh, oh