The first train left before the dawn,
I heard the whistle cut the cold.
I kept my back against the station wall,
Counting lies I’d already told.
A streetlight buzzed like a dying star,
Rain slid black across the glass.
I lit a match to see my hands,
But the flame went out too fast.
Chorus
They call me the astronaut—
Not because I fly, but because I’m gone.
No tether to pull me home,
Just a vacant sky to wander on.
I walked the alleys where the sirens hum,
Found a wallet in the mud.
Someone’s life in faded bills,
A photograph smeared with blood.
The river swelled like a restless lung,
Its current whispering “disappear.”
I thought of you and the promises
That never made it clear.
They call me the astronaut—
Not because I fly, but because I’m gone.
No tether to pull me home,
Just a vacant sky to wander on.
Every door I pass is another world
Where the lights stay warm and low.
But I keep moving through the blackout streets,
Afraid of what I’d know.
I reached the edge where the freight yards end,
Metal groans beneath the frost.
If there’s gravity in a place like this,
It’s only for the lost.
So call me the astronaut—
Weightless in a suit of sin.
I burn through night like a satellite,
And never land again