A train moving out of the station, somewhere south of it

A satellite making connections somewhere over it

One makes a long lonely howl, one is silent

A new design waits to be launched somewhere west of it

Calling all cans on the go

This is mission control

Somewhere built below it

Pass that cup over here; this is boring

And I don't even do this anymore to believe

The nonsense I'm hearing

A certain amount of booze is all it takes to relax me

Then it's back to my parents' home in a taxi

Back to the place I belong

To the place I belong

Somewhere built below it

I am a science boy

I grew up on dinosaurs

A million different species of birds, and aircraft

This is the science of truth

Is the science of love

Is the science of it