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    The Awakening g6xr

    Hawkwind 5z692z


    I would rather the fire storms of atmospheres
    Than this cruel descent from a thousand years
    of dreams, into the starkness of the capsule.

    Where two of our crew still lay suspended cool
    in their tombs of sleep.
    Those nagging choirs of memory
    the tubes and wires
    worming from their flesh to machinery
    I would have to cut

    Such midwifery is but one function of the leader here
    Floating in a sac of fluid dark
    A clear century of space
    Away from Earth
    While one man stares from the trauma of his birth
    Attending to the hypno-tapes
    Assuring him
    that this was reality
    however grim
    Our journey's end

    Landing itself was nothing
    We touched upon a shelf of rock
    selected by the automind
    And left a galaxy of dreams behind...

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