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Personal Note:

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Adapt to the stars. 
And eating rocks on Mars.
Try to be a little flexible. 
And let space dust take its toll. 

Adapt to driving a car. 
And swinging a golf club far. 
Maybe you’ll learn to cook salmon. 
And cut your own hair like they do at the salon. 

Adapt to roller skates. 
Adapt to the way perfume dissipates. 
Adapt to learning French. 
Adapt to falling asleep on a bench. 

There’s not much to do here on earth. 
Except give everyone else a wide berth. 
I could learn to cook them a fancy dish. 
But that would not be my wish. 

Adapt to having your pinky toe cut off. 
Or having an endless cough. 
Having a bee living in my shirt sleeve.
Who whispers about a man named Steve. 

If anyone out there knows,
How to hold an awkward pose. 
Or juggle a pile of vegetables. 
While balancing on a three legged table. 

Adapt to the stars, they said. 
While you lie in bed. 
While you dream about becoming someone new. 
And learn to change a tire on a car that is blue. 

Adapt or else no one will listen. 
So I better get to fishin’.

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