Boys and girls in cars
Dogs and birds on lawns
From here I can touch the Sun

Put your jackets on
I feel we’re being born
The tropic of Capricorn is below

We stall above the pole
Still your face is young
As we feel our weight return
A trail of shooting stars
The horses call the storm
Because the air contains the charge

The radio is on
And Houston knows the score
Can you feel it we’re almost home

The crew compartment’s breaking up
The crew compartment’s breaking up
The crew compartment’s breaking up
The crew compartment’s breaking up
This is all I wanted to bring home to you
The crew compartment’s breaking up
The crew compartment’s breaking up
The crew compartment’s breaking up