In space, nobody can hear you scream. Oh, not because sound doesn't exist there; you'd just get drowned out by the goddamn racket all that stoic-looking cosmic stuff is making. Sure, from the ground it looks all quiet and peaceful, but if you've got the right equipment to hear it, it's like the hallway of a college dorm up there, but without all the used condoms and crying teenage girls. Well, until Richard Branson finishes building his spaceship, anyway.
My god, is that...it is! The voice of the sun itself! O, giver of life, singer of the cosmic song: Your gentle embrace warms our flesh and grants us the universe's most precious gift. It sounds just like you'd imagine it, doesn't it? That gentle pulsing; it's so beautiful and serene, like the pumping of some gargantuan organ.
Yep, nice and relaxing, like a giant, beating heart. A giant, beating, extraterrestrial heart.
Made out of nuclear fire.
As a direct counterpoint to the passive throbbing of gargantuan fiery skyballs, here we have the sound of the Earth as recorded by our farthest satellites. Whereas the sun emits a womb-like tidal rhythm, the Earth - with that sinister bass and long, keening build-up - sounds more like the Deathstar charging up to fire. Seriously, those are trademark death-ray sound effects.
That's the real reason orbital paths grow increasingly large as you go farther out. It has nothing to do with physics; the other planets are just fucking terrified.