Hawkwind
The Awakening
I would rather the fire storms of atmospheresThan this cruel descent from a thousand yearsOf dreams, into the starkness of the capsule.Where two of our crew still lay suspended coolIn their tombs of sleep.Those nagging choirs of memoryThe tubes and wiresWorming from their flesh to machineryI would have to cutSuch midwifery is but one function of the leader hereFloating in a sac of fluid darkA clear century of spaceAway from EarthWhile one man stares from the trauma of his birthAttending to the hypno-tapesAssuring himThat this was realityHowever grimOur journey's endLanding itself was nothingWe touched upon a shelf of rockSelected by the auto-mindAnd left a galaxy of dreams behind
From Letras Mania