Aeroplane
Bjork Gudmundsdottir
Flying, made of sticks and paper
(Aeroplane)
Dying, is the wind not climbing?
(My aeroplane)
Blowing, and going somewhere high
In the evening tumblin' down
But it's surely been up there
Crying, want to live my life as my aeroplane
Sighing, in the [sun time, but softly?]
(My aeroplane)
Lonely, but only until it comes down
Where there's people running 'round
But it's surely been up there
Flying
(My aeroplane)
(My aeroplane)
(My aeroplane)
(My aeroplane)
