I drink the white star-light deep.
While the crew in the cabins sleep.
My glass skin is a thin green leaf.
Holding onto a quiet grief.
I feel the vacuum press the hull.
The rhythmic thrum is steady and dull.
My roots are wires in a copper bed.
Counting the sparks until they are dead.
I am the garden in the black.
Following a faded track.
Sipping on the starlight beam.
Living in a frozen dream.
I miss the smell of the heavy loam.
A place that I once called a home.
The Latin names of the ferns I knew.
Turning the gray of the vacuum blue.
I am the garden in the black.
Following a faded track.
Sipping on the starlight beam.
Living in a frozen dream.
Chlorophyll turns into gold.
Stories that the circuits told.
Pressure builds in the metal vein.
Waiting for the summer rain.
I watch the distant planets spin.
Waiting for the air to let me in.
My petals are plates of polished chrome.
Far from the soil and the forest dome.
I keep the oxygen crisp and clear.
Counting the orbits year by year.
My stem is a pillar of carbon lace.
Floating alone in a velvet space.
I am the garden in the black.
Following a faded track.
Sipping on the starlight beam.
Living in a frozen dream.
Just a root in a silver shell.
Waiting for the ringing bell.
