Where are we going
You are receding
That's going backwards
Who taught you to fly

Wings of an apricot
I hope it's not too hot
The sun'll burn 'em up
Well, at least we're not fairies

Jump--Jump to the moon I say
But sir, we don't have any legs
Besides, the successful people don't jump
They climb--well, let's build an elevator

Hell, a rocket pack'll do
He tells us
Don't make such a fuss
It's only fifteen million miles away