An astronaut back from the moon at loose ends
I found myself on Mount Ararat looking for Noah's big boat
My fellow seekers, they never tired of asking me about the view
I'd say the eye of the moon can see outer space is a great black flood and this earth is the true ark
Up there in that lunar vacuum, there's no wind that's going to cover my tracks
Somewhere a golf ball waits for me, wondering when I'm going to come on back
Well, I'm never coming back
Stateside again, thought I'd take up oil painting
I enrolled in some night classes at a suburban community college
Like me, my teacher lived downtown, gave me a lift most every time
"All cities grow to the west," she'd say, chasing the sunset in her Volkswagen
Driving toward the end of this world
We'd lie up on her roof at night. She'd ask me what it's like up there
She'd be dreaming of making love in lunar maria
Oh honey, we're going nowhere
The world's run out of style, but I've brought back some brand new content
I alone can paint you landscapes from beyond that heavenly firmament
So I'd frustrate her every lazy lovesick day asking her to teach me how to mix every shade of grey
Beaux-arts trained, she left me alone with the techniques of the old masters
The ones the poet says were never wrong about suffering
But what did they know about astronauts?
If all history, we've been wanting to fly, and wanting to walk on that moon
Isn't it a bit of tragicomedy we got tired of it so soon?
You got tired of me so soon
I got tired of you so soon
An astronaut back from the moon and at loose ends
Astronaut's Lament Video (MV)
The New Birds of America - Astronaut's Lament Lyrics
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An astronaut back from the moon at loose ends
I found myself on Mount Ararat looking for Noah's big boat
My fellow seekers, they never tired of asking me about the view
I'd say the eye of the moon can see outer space is a great black flood and this earth is the true ark
Up there in that lunar vacuum, there's no wind that's going to cover my tracks
Somewhere a golf ball waits for me, wondering when I'm going to come on back
Well, I'm never coming back
Stateside again, thought I'd take up oil painting
I enrolled in some night classes at a suburban community college
Like me, my teacher lived downtown, gave me a lift most every time
"All cities grow to the west," she'd say, chasing the sunset in her Volkswagen
Driving toward the end of this world
We'd lie up on her roof at night. She'd ask me what it's like up there
She'd be dreaming of making love in lunar maria
Oh honey, we're going nowhere
The world's run out of style, but I've brought back some brand new content
I alone can paint you landscapes from beyond that heavenly firmament
So I'd frustrate her every lazy lovesick day asking her to teach me how to mix every shade of grey
Beaux-arts trained, she left me alone with the techniques of the old masters
The ones the poet says were never wrong about suffering
But what did they know about astronauts?
If all history, we've been wanting to fly, and wanting to walk on that moon
Isn't it a bit of tragicomedy we got tired of it so soon?
You got tired of me so soon
I got tired of you so soon
An astronaut back from the moon and at loose ends
I found myself on Mount Ararat looking for Noah's big boat
My fellow seekers, they never tired of asking me about the view
I'd say the eye of the moon can see outer space is a great black flood and this earth is the true ark
Up there in that lunar vacuum, there's no wind that's going to cover my tracks
Somewhere a golf ball waits for me, wondering when I'm going to come on back
Well, I'm never coming back
Stateside again, thought I'd take up oil painting
I enrolled in some night classes at a suburban community college
Like me, my teacher lived downtown, gave me a lift most every time
"All cities grow to the west," she'd say, chasing the sunset in her Volkswagen
Driving toward the end of this world
We'd lie up on her roof at night. She'd ask me what it's like up there
She'd be dreaming of making love in lunar maria
Oh honey, we're going nowhere
The world's run out of style, but I've brought back some brand new content
I alone can paint you landscapes from beyond that heavenly firmament
So I'd frustrate her every lazy lovesick day asking her to teach me how to mix every shade of grey
Beaux-arts trained, she left me alone with the techniques of the old masters
The ones the poet says were never wrong about suffering
But what did they know about astronauts?
If all history, we've been wanting to fly, and wanting to walk on that moon
Isn't it a bit of tragicomedy we got tired of it so soon?
You got tired of me so soon
I got tired of you so soon
An astronaut back from the moon and at loose ends
Writer: Blaise Moritz
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid