With apologies to The Corries and "The Bricklayer Song"
(Their far funnier version is at the bottom)
Dear Sir, I write this note to you
to tell you of my plight,
for at the time of writing it,
I'm not a pretty sight.
My body is all black and blue,
my skin a yellow/grey,
and I write this note to say
why I am not at work today.
While working on the stage two link
my safety rope was sheared,
and letting go at such a height
was not a good idea.
The Team 6 Chief, he wasn't pleased
(he is an awkward sod)
he said he'd have to cancel launching,
"due to FOD".
But in his haste to cancel launch,
he got the wrong codeword,
or as he claimed in court last week,
CAPCOM just misheard.
Either way, result the same,
it left me out of luck,
the countdown clock hit zero,
I knew then, I was fucked.
The engines fired, the bolts went bang,
umbilicals fell like lead,
and clinging to a Saturn V
I started up instead.
I rose up with the rocket,
assuming I was dead,
and ten feet up I hit the bloody gantry with my head.
The force of this collision,
half way up the rocket stack,
caused multiple abrasions,
and a minor heart attack.
I clung on tightly to the ship,
my body wracked with pain,
then "oh here comes the crew ramp"...
...bloody gantry one again.
I had no choice at this point,
(let alone much hope)
I put my faith in Newton
and let go the safety rope.
My body it just tumbled,
as helpless as the rain,
by some dumb luck I met the bloody gantry once again.
Crumpled on the crew ramp,
I thought I'd passed the worst,
but rocket exhaust rained down on me,
I really must be cursed.
The surgeon thinks I should be dead,
and I can only say:
I hope you'll understand why I am not at work today.
(The real version)
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