Oh we have slipped the surly bonds of earth,
We happy can of seasoned frequent fliers.
Tight packing fills each human cargo berth
Ensuring we are profit multipliers.
And having joined the tumbling clouds of mirth,
We snooze to last year's sad box-office flop.
We never dream what soaring flight is worth
But turbulance will make our coffee slop.
Free sailing in the heaven's deepest blue
A dull-red seat-back vista is for us,
Rare atmosphere beyond where eagles flew
We breathe recycled air of musty bus.
Though tedious the time and dull the place
This is the nearest I will get to space.