Oh why can’t I be green
as the grass beneath my feet?
As fresh as the dew hits
the ground in the morning
And not yellow like bumble bees
Please take me off my knees, my knees
I don’t wanna be red forever

Wandering stars in the blue, etc.

I’ve been looking at the moon
But I’ve been thinking of myself
I’ve got me under my own skin
I don’t need nobody else
I’m looking at the moon
But I’m thinking of myself
I’ve got me under my own skin
I don’t need nobody else

Wandering stars in the blue, etc.

If I could have sunlight
in the palm of your hand
I’d take the moonlight instead

If I could have sunlight
in the palm of your hand
I’d take the moonlight instead

From “My Love Grows Deeper,” Nelly Furtado

It was a story about a man and a star. The star sparkled “Come” to the man, the man tried to get to the star. But, of course, all attempts failed. The man fell off towers, mountains, got bruised from his other attempts I don’t remember… and the star always sparkled “come”.
The man then dug a hole to escape from the star, so he wouldn’t need to see it anymore.
He hit some sort water current, a strong wellspring, and was catapulted up to the star, who still sparkled.

Man, I hate that star.

It is a matter of scale, if anything.