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the lost cosmonaught

Its cold alone in empty space
when noone knows you're there
and mother earth will hide her face
behind a vacant stare
the banners gone and long forgot
no one pretends to care
as the final long lost cosmonaught
is running out of air.
The chatter on the radio
the stagnant hazy air
with so much hope when he first left
he promptly went nowhere
his burned-out craft, failed by poor math
his vacant broken stare
he fears a tomb in outer space
where god is unaware.
The only man who's talking now
is in an office chair
as two doors down the higher ups
sign an end to his despair
with the record sealed on this ordeal
the proofs been burned with care
so the deathly press of all this mess
will remain only a scare.
His lovers cry in bed tonight
the old ones and the new
all painting portraits in their mind
forever young, so true
the word was sent; an accident
now no longer he flew
the best and brightest flickered out
and oh so far removed.





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