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Patrick the Pan

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Patrick the Pan

Space, 1961

There is a place, where birds don't fly.
A home of silence and sattelites.
And I feel the world smiles at me,
fading in astral melancholy.

I am forgotten by history and gravity.
The state I'm in is a feist for poetry.
Hopeless and helpless I realized –
science's the only god and it feeds with sacrifice.

I know You don't want me back,
I am so meaningless
The closer to stars the more I feel like I'm going down,
Silence, here I come into your arms.
I'm lucky to choose between the blade, hunger and cold
Final move and I am coming home.