Spring in the air feeling crisp on my skin,
breathing it in.

Run down the lane, over the clifftop to end all the pain
and the air on my skin drifted out,
drifting into unconsciousness.

Conscious only of that long lonely drop.

The drunken Angel despite no wings
flings caution aside and comes along
for the ride.

I dream of flying and dying too, but
never died yet and hardly flew,
few do anyway.

Tragic when the magics stop
off the cliff at the bottom of
the drop.

But it's all a trap that's set to get
the body count high and who in their
right mind would try to fly on
such a windy day.

The thief would want to steal my tears
unmask me
and unwind my years,
the Angel and I have a few more beers and
head for the clifftop again.