Is that a planet in your pocket
Or are you happy to see me?
I’d prefer to guzzle dark matter
Except I’d get vastly fatter
But tonight I have to dazzle
It’s the galactic geezer hour
We’re jigging on drips of negative power
There’s just enough juice to let old gods dance
Walkers creaking as we crash the floor
I keep making glaring mistakes
Until I see my feet
We chant with a belter from Betelgeuse
Next shimmy our way through galactic dust
Some sneezing from tinkly red pulsar rust
Mash a mix-tape to a black hole trot
Backed by crooning stains and spots
Desperate to stay cool – can’t get too hot
Shoes melt in this cracked collapsing pot
Still haven’t seen my date
Even by solar standards, terribly late
You can’t dance without Old Time
And is she looking wasted
The frenzy’s lifting everyone
But I can’t find my hip-flask sun
Might be best to creep towards sleep
It’s preposterous growing old
Hairy, sniffling, exhausted, cold
But I don’t need a young world’s romance
This flailing geezer’s gotta dance