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My head has become an airport. Where wisdom and fire should be, There are now air traffic controllers... And these ain't no holy rollers All touch down landings and whispered entropy. Every day I burn it all down Send 'em all home and claim my space Then it's all quiet and round. But suspicious is my sleepy little town, And before I know it, They're back in my face. He on High says "feel with it, deal with it, Get down into it, and notice the shit You haven't dared to care about - Well, yeah, you can boot 'em all out But some of those landing crew is you - And when "they" beat the tarmac, Ooze ennui and attack, It's to alert you to the fact That you're the pilot on this rendezvous. And the rescue team awaits command Else dreams are lost in shifting sand Where downtime groundtime gets co-opted By idle hands and devil's work." My Navigator's special perk Is to lend His Eyes and Mighty Hand And Her Response and Loving Heart that I might safely fly my plane, Transport passengers from the dark, And log some frequent flyer miles, Arriving home thru blinding rain, Then turn my airport to a park Of flowers, grass and dancing creatures. No more gate crash horror features Friends I know won't trash the place When all is me that I can see I'll dare to look at all there be Inside and outside of me. We'll all live in some rural scene Without the roar of engines o'er My head; instead, the air Will teem with purple birds of flight Where daytimes kiss indigo night. All weary, beaten travellers home All safe around the firelight. copyright 1997-2002 Panjoyah |