I'll have to forget the casket
If I hope to live at all.
I Wave my arms profusely
To proclaim my plight
I take a look behind me
Three hundred more in flight.
I look across the tread ways
So few smiling faces.
Heads bowed to the wind,
hair greyed by the cold, Thinking of far away places .
Oh for the joy of falling
Once the trip has been made
Bouncing from pillar to post
Without chance of being saved.
Someone holds a hook out
It's looking terribly sharp.
If I want it
I must stick my foot out
And pray to the man with the harp.
Good grief, Alleluiah. Praise be to God!
They call out in their terror
It's a far simpler cry
than having a try
and catching a glimpse in the mirror.
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