First Landing On Medusa Hawkwind

I would rather the firestorms of atmospheres
Than this cruel decent from a hundred years of dreaming
“In the starkness of the capsule”
Two of our crew still lay suspended cool in their tombs of sleep
The nagging choirs of memory
The lengths of tube and wires
Deep worming from their flesh to machinery
I have to contend
Such midwifery is just one function of the leader here
Floating in a sack of fluid dark
In a clear sector of space

One man stirred from the trauma of his birth
Attentive to the tapes assuring him
This was reality however grim our journeys end

The landing itself was easy
We touched upon a shelf of rock
Selected by the auto pilot
And left a galaxy of dreams behind