Neil On The Moon

(to REMs "Man On The Moon)

On the TV, an old black and white

(yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

Walter Cronkite at the anchoring desk

(yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

Tranquility, Eagle lands, rockets at rest

(yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

Mr. Neil Armstrong now a lunar guest

(yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

Moon rock looting, one long trip

(yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

Here in heavens, call from Tricky Dick

(yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

Some people like to say about that time

Flying to the stars was too much

Some people were just hoping for green men

But sadly,

None would get in touch.

Yes, I believe

They put a Neil on the moon

Neil on the moon

Yes I believe

Had planted both his feet

On something that’s cool

Ticker tape welcome from his world of blue

(yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

Could’ve got deals for unearthly coup

(yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

Oddly, he humbled to an hon’rable task

(yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

Engineer teaching in a college class

(yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

But what if Neil had gone for the big time?

Surely, he was man for the clutch

But seems he had a calling from elsewhere

No doubting

Some had thought him nuts

Yet, we were glad

They brought our Neil from the moon

Neil from the moon

Helping his grads

He planted both his feet

In job that was cool.

Now a little silence for our Mr. Achiever

(yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
Here’s a little toast that I’m offering

(yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

“Here’s to dear Neil, a man, an odds beater

(yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

Now our Mister Armstrong’s gone travellin’”

(yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

Now forty years we’ve gone around our sun

Forty-three to be more exact

And some night when you’re looking at moon beams

Start waving

Neil, he might wave back.

If you believe

There was a man on the moon

Man on the moon

You might believe

He’s planting both his feet

On something that’s new.

Supermoon

How Now Brown Cow

(to the Smiths song How Soon is Now)

I am the cow
I have brown hair
On a diet that is primarily bulgur
And a little hay
And munching perpendicular

I love the South
Except the clay
I graze upon things in my way
I am bovine and I need to chew cud
Just like every animal does

I am the spoon
I have no hair
You can choose me or your fingers for a holder
With a cheese soufflé
Or something less ventricular

Open your mouth
And then make way
I think we’re having soup and flambé
Or there’s Hunan’ and some spice that you know
Just know, there’s no gooey damp dough

I have to run
I’m dinner ware
I am china that is Royal Dalton stoner
I’m a saucer plate
For coffee, I’m vehicular

There is no doubt
A brief soiree
I’ll run off with the spoon on Monday
There’s a full moon, and it’s time to move on
To a place for summer fun sun

There’s a cat that we’d like to know.
Maybe a musician who likes to play tunes
Grab a bow, and fiddle on your own
A song well known
You’ll feel spry
Over fence you’ll fly

See the moon is gonna call the cow
Lit abstractly in its sheen
Hooves now readily leaving the ground
Hear a laughing dog sound.

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Copyright 2010 Warren Baker

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