Letters from the Lunar Outpost

The shortest answer is doing.
- Herbert, English Metaphysical Poet (1593-1632)

Wake up the neighbors, send down the cops
We got enough donuts for thirteen donut shops
Go get your father, go tell your mom
We want the thunder, baby, we want the bomb

I need it
My heart bleeds it

Thunderin’ across the heavens
And rollin’ gently down your spine
Rainin’ on the fertile soil
It echoes deep inside your mind

Raise up the rooftop, pull down your walls
Swing from the chandelier, girl, swing on my balls

I need it . . .

Crank up the system, kick down some bass
Ride with the sound waves as they sail through outer space

I need it . . .

( . . . guitar solo)

And rollin’ gently down your spine
Rainin’ on the fertile soil
It echoes deep inside your –
Thunderin’ across the heavens
And rollin’ gently down your spine
Rainin’ on the fertile soil
It echoes deep inside your mind

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Team of Rivals
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