The Mud and the Oven

How many histories find a future,
 In my accidental frame?
 If I could fly, or failing, cry,
 For myself I'd take no blame,
 For what can the potter fashion,
 From the clay he's been given?
 For all his skill and his passion,
 It's between the mud and the oven.
 Has it occurred to you,
 Is this a thought you can face?
 That we're clinging to this here ball of rock,
 As we're hurtling through space -
 In space, where everything is moving,
 In one way or another,
 And everything we see depends on,
 Where we stand to each other,
 Oh, brother, cast your eyes upon this lonely disc,
 Of green white and blue,
 And as it fills your field of vision,
 Feel you ego slip through your shoes...
 Remember - what can the potter fashion,
 From the clay he's been given?
 For all his skill and his passion,
 It's between the mud and the oven.
 Oh, the mud and the oven.
 Oh, the mud and the oven...
 What can the potter fashion,
 From the clay he's been given?
 For all his skill and his passion,
 It's between the mud and the oven.
 Oh, the mud and the oven.
 Oh, the mud and the - oven...
 Has it occurred to you,
 Is this a thought you can face?
 That we're clinging to this here ball of rock,
 As we're hurtling through space...