Give me an open field.
One with a sunset, one without any steel.
One not to launch a rocket,
imagination is my appeal.
Space, it’s right here. Down in the compression zone of our atmosphere where sunsets and sunrises survive. With effort reality may thrive . Or be lost. We’ll decide.
To all billionaires concerned, there’s trouble right here.
There’s work to do
Down here, down where you all earn your meal.
So as for the glory, the phenom of atmospheric heights to which you so yearn,
Fix the low land now, before space is your concern.