Feet up, out of space in ‘69
I orbit in an ice-cold can
And if wipe the window’s condensation
I look up to a perfect blue and white sphere
On my lap an Eagle- Earth centre fold vision of 2001,
Silent silver missiles cruising Empire State dreams
Monorailed through an electric stapled wonderland.
Outside, cold stark blue
Inside fuggy and warm.
Feet up out of space in ‘69
I orbit in an ice cold can
And if I wipe the window’s condensation
I look up to a perfect blue and white sphere.

Have a Good 2009, BJJ, and also Ms. Tia and the garage band. They can’t take the Sixties back off us, buddy.

Rich. U.K.