Bo Burnham
The Martian
One of them Martians came round the house last night.

Talking in code or some shit.
Weird fucking things they are.

He rambled for a good ten minutes.

Didn’t listen. Kept staring at his brain
through that tacky glass head of his.
I could see his thoughts form. I could see
them scramble around like ants on hot pavement.
Dumb and flightless, that’s what they are.

He eventually left. Haven’t thought of him since.