It is not I who picked the star
but it is good and I am glad
to stand here in the desert sand
where all is gray and rather bland.
And gusty winds play silly games
the distant range beckons and frames
just me and rolls of spinifex
I dream of you and all night sex
while butterflies and birds with wings
from far away bring lovely things.
Your music destined for my ears
has now arrived but no one hears
the love that holds your words together
when light and pretty, like a feather
your pledge embraces me to hold
and warms a heart that was so cold.
You mentioned then that distant stars
which all are children of Old Mars
will gladly be the in between
a star, you said, can then be seen
when our heart is open for
the lover from that distant shore.
So here we stand, just holding hands
have no more wishes or demands
what would you think of at this hour
perhaps a special, fragrant flower?
Oh no, I say. I will repeat
this lovely girl smells just as sweet.