Prototype Unit Trace

"There is an astronaut walking the Earth.
With heavy feet and heavy heart
There is a soul a world apart.
There is an astronaut walking the Earth.

There is a signal beamed from Earth.
A simple message of minimum words,
A lesson taught will never be learnt.
There is a signal beamed from Earth.

There is an astronaut walking the Earth.
Oh send me down your favourite star.
I'll keep it here, safe from harm.
There is an astronaut walking the Earth."

These were the words Franklin crooned on the top deck of a busy 253. The other passengers assumed a melancholic piano backing existing, audible only to him through headphones obscured by his woolly hat. There was no such thing. Franklin sang from memory. He'd learnt the words from Plato, some of them, and the tune from a winged lady on a park bench in Minneapolis. The lady had been sitting only a summer dress patterned with flames, the snow melting on contact with her bare shoulders. Franklin joined her and harmonized for a while. She wasn't singing about spacemen.

On the bus Franklin sat bolt upright to open his diaphragm as far as possible. His eyes were closed and the only harmony was the drone of the engine.