Visionary

Yeah, they thought I built rockets just to touch the moon,

Thought I wanted a statue and a science cartoon.

Nah, I'm diggin' in red dirt, with a green house scheme,

A tiny little farm and a billionaires dream.

No flag on the planet, no cape on my back,

Just a grow light humming in a shipping rack.

Earth got paper work, permits, and fees,

I got a dome full of plants and a Martian breeze.

I'm not a space hero, I'm a weird little dude,

With a spread sheet, a shovel, and sussy attitude.

When the astronauts land and they open the gate,

I'll be like, "Welcome to Mars - your order's late."

I'm a lunar-lit horticulture arkuhtect with a cargo manifest,

Catalogging cosmic compost in a copper plated catalyst.

A pocket sized apocalypse, a garden in a satellite,

Blueprints folded origami style beneath the artificial atmosphere light.

I got a weathered weather station measuring Martian mood swings,

Tiny red machines doing chores with their mechanical moon dreams.

The bureaucrats bicker while the bureaucratic gears grind,

I'm cultivating a continent inside of a can-sized mind. With a thermal-regulated terrarium laboratory lattice, the dust gets domesticated and the dead rock turns lavish.

A strange little enterprise with a questionable résumé,

A farmer with a flight plan and a thousand mile commute each day.

I got a rover in the driveway, a lab in the sand,

A tiny robot assistant with a wrench in his hand.

Every satellite floating way up in the blue,

Could be checkin' the weather... or delivering too.

I got hydroponic towers reaching up tall,

Green little forests inside a metal wall.

While Earth argues taxes and who owns what,

I'm making alien snacks in a Martian pot.

Purple little plants under artificial suns,

I'm doing gardening crimes with zero gravity fun.

They said, "That's impossible, you're losing your mind."

I said, "Yeah, but my harvest is out of this kind."

They said, "That rocket guy's changing the game,"

I said, "Cool story, I'm changing the strain."

You're watching the launch with your eyes on the sky,

I'm checking my inventory, making sure it's supplied.

No evil empire, no laser attack,

Just a guy with a helmet and a back pack.

I'm walking through craters with a clip board sheet,

Trying to calculate my inter planetary heat.

From Olympus Mons to the canyon below,

I got little green houses ready to grow.

Not a colony, buddy, get that idea straight,

I'm just farming rocks at an un reasonable rate.

I'm not your messiah, I'm not your king,

I'm just a space gardener doin' my thang.

Writin' my name in the dust and the sand,

With a weird little shovel in my weird little hand.

Earth might forget me, the stars might laugh,

But Mars got my logo on a satellite path.

So when the future kids ask what happened back then,

They'll say, "Some dude brought farming to Mars my friend."

I'm not chasing constellations, I'm rearranging the furniture,

Turning barren little boulders into botanical architecture.

A civilization seed packet tucked inside a vacuum case,

Leaving tiny green fingerprints on an unfamiliar place.

The universe is a warehouse and I'm inventory checking,

Every crater got a story and every orbit got a section.

If history's a hallway full of locked-up cosmic doors,

I brought the weirdest key collection from the interplanetary store.