Consider the final verse of Neil Young’s “After the Gold Rush,” in which mankind trundles onto “silver spaceships” and disembarks for a location more hospitable to human life than planet Earth:
Flying Mother Nature’s silver seed to a new home in the Sun
The Sun? Really? Not the Moon, or Mars, or even another galaxy? Are you not aware, Neil Young, that the temperature on the Sun is, like, ten thousand degrees?
So either Neil is a really crap science-fiction writer or the song is actually a horror story about a doomed mission of crying children vaporizing en route to the Sun. With a flugelhorn solo.