Space Race

Don Powers wants a better life
To be proud of a place
But he caught a dull carving knife
Spot at the totem pole base
He is one that carries the weight
Hearing ‘I’m somebody’ cries
His Chief above can call the day
And the moment he will die

Looking to the top
Not wanting to be
In that precarious space at age 73
Bull’s got what it takes
To swing his weight
From a place
That…the unreachable fate

Don travels in his humble means
To a battle that is nigh
Every day does a concrete routine
Builds the skyscraper higher
Once he’s thru he takes a break
Where the bottom rung fare
A rental home without a mate
Positioned beneath the stares

Looking to the top
Not wanting to be
In that precarious space at age 73
Bull’s got what it takes
To swing his weight
From a place
That…the unreachable fate

Now his Chief
Can do more things
Above in his penthouse perch
And down below
Till death Don works
On the next
Bing engine search

Looking to the top
Not wanting to be
In that precarious space at age 73
Bull’s got what it takes
To swing his weight
From a place
That…the unreachable fate
From a place
That…the unreachable fate

Tom O. Williams–music, lyrics, rhythm, vocals
Carlos Pino–lead guitar, mandolin, tiple, keys
Brandon Peeples–bass
Michael Glaser–drums

© 2018 Thomas O. Williams