There's more than golf balls on the moon,
More than stars and stripes,
More than lunar rover tracks,
And two subsatellites.
Four hundred thousand pounds of junk
Contaminate the place.
It's sad to think our happy moon's
A teenaged pimple face.
There's more than golf balls on the moon.
The bogeymen are there,
These aliens who lift us from
Our beds without a care.
They've watched us now for many years,
And wonder how we last
When we make war year after year,
Blast after blinking blast.
There's more than golf balls on the moon,
But, alas, no cheese.
There is no water, gold, or oil,
No profit guarantees.
Just little men from outer space
Who watch us from the dunes.
They think we are barbaric,
But they love our Looney Tunes.
Categories:
subsatellites, humor, moon, space,
Form: Rhyme