The hallway is like space, and we are light years apart.
I try to figure how to send a signal to get your attention.
Ground Control to major Tom. This connection is growing thin.
My nervous feelings are draining the oxygen out of me.
I’m drifting from my rocket, and I’m reaching for something to come back.
Astroids of self doubt keep me blocked from getting to you.
Help me get to you. Because Huston, we have a problem.