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My father was a rocket man |
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He often went to Jupiter or Mercury, to Venus or to Mars |
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My mother and I would watch the sky |
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And wonder if a falling star |
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Was a ship becoming ashes with a rocket man inside |
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My mother and I |
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Never went out |
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Unless the sky was cloudy or the sun was blotted out |
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Or to escape the pain |
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We only went out when it rained |
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My father was a rocket man |
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He loved the world beyond the world, the sky beyond the sky |
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And on my mother's face, as lonely as the world in space |
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I could read the silent cry |
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That if my father fell into a star |
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We must not look upon that star again |
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My mother and I |
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Never went out |
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Unless the sky was cloudy or the sun was blotted out |
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Or to escape the pain |
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We only went out when it rained |
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Tears are often jewel-like |
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My mother's went unnoticed by my father, for his jewels were the stars |
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And in my father's eyes I knew he had to find |
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In the sanctity of distance something brighter than a star |
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One day they told us the sun had flared and taken him inside |
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My mother and I |
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Never went out |
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Unless the sky was cloudy or the sun was blotted out |
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Or to escape the pain |
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We only went out when it rained |
