Boys and girls in cars

Dogs and birds on lawns


From here I can touch the sun

Yeah yeah



Put your jackets on

I feel we're being born

The Tropic of Capricorn is below

Yeah yeah yeah yeah



We stall above the pole

Still your face is young

As we feel our weight return

Yeah yeah



A trail of shooting stars

The horses call of storm

Because the air contains the charge

Yeah yeah yeah yeah



The radio is on

And Houston knows the score

Can you feel it?

We're almost home

Yeah yeah yeah yeah



The crew compartment's breaking up

The crew compartment's breaking up

The crew compartment's breaking up

The crew compartment's breaking up

The crew compartment's breaking up

The crew compartment's breaking up

The crew compartment's breaking up

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