Constellation

Hey, in the twilight of the summer,
With the insects buzzing lazily
And meandering like drunken dancers,
Let's grab a hold of cloud-cattle
And lead our steeds across the sky.

Pegasus with his mane of stars
Springs from the head of a monster.
Born from decapitation,
He speaks of the night as his home
And of the day as his murderer

He says that he sees or remembers
The Greeks in their ancient happiness
And Archimedes leaping through his thoughts.
The streets are scarred by circles and circumstance
For such is the life of a mathematician.

They had no Christianity, neither does the Southern Cross
Though it's a saviour like the Virgin Mary.
The Catholics that speak quickly and think deeply
Can use it as a fabled compass
But the saint of crosses and murder is apathetic

And by the scorpion's tail
Rests the Orion of old,
Each chasing the other and lighting the sky.
Let's grab a cup of burning hydrogen
And laugh ourselves to death.