Gonna fly up to the moon,. raising all of my money.. Can't make it too soon,. I am sick of it down here.. Gonna rise up to the moon.. So this is how the world ends-.
Baby,. once more I won't ask again,. don't tell me I should count to ten.. Think freely.. I won't attempt to curb your speech,. it sounds like something out of reach..
Everything changes when you think about it,. there's not much you can do about it.. But another broken Irish sat on park bench,. Feel his life like a gut wrench,.