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Words to MJ’s “Planet Earth”, Percy Shelley does hand flips in his grave

Here are the words to MJ’s poem “Planet Earth”. This is the poem that New York Post pop music critic Dan Aquilante failed to laugh uproariously and instead actually thought was good  and thereby lost whatever vestiges of credibility he had left.

Planet Earth, my home my
 place a capricious anomaly in the sea of space
Planet Earth are you just
Floating by, a cloud of dust
A minor globe, about to bust
A piece of metal bound to rust
A speck of matter in a mindless void
A lonely spacship, a large asteroid
Cold as a rock without a hue
Held together with a bit of glue
Something tells me this isn’t true
You are my sweetheart soft and blue
Do you care, have you a part
In the deepest emotions of my own heart
Tender with breezes caressing and whole
Alive with music, haunting my soul.
In my veins I’ve felt the mystery
Of corridors of time, books of hisotry
Life songs of ages throbbing in my blood
Have danced the rhythm of the tide and flood
Your misty clouds, your electric storm
Were turbulent tempests in my own form
I’ve licked the salt, the bitter, the sweet
Of every encounter, of passion, of heat
Your riotous color, your fragrance, your taste
Have thrilled my senses beyond all haste
In your beuaty, I’ve known the how
Of timeless bliss, this moment of now
Planet Earth are you just
Floating by, a cloud of dust
A minor globe, about to bust
A piece of metal bound to rust
A speck of matter in a mindless void
A lonely spacship, a large asteroid
Cold as a rock without a hue
Held together with a bit of glue
Something tells me this isn’t true
You are my swweetheart gentle and blue
Do you care, have you a part
In the deepest emotions of my own heart
Tender with breezes caressing and whole
Alive with music, haunting my soul.
Planet Earth, gentle and blue
With all my heart, I love you.

For comparison sakes here is a little Shelley writing about a different rock, the moon:

Art thou pale for weariness Of
 climbing Heaven, and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless
Among the stars that have a different birth,–
And ever changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?

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