32,000 feet above the lot of you and examining the strands of cloud, looking down and wondering just how safe I could be.
When can you start to discount coincidence as no such act of random encounter,
Instead start to look at fate and decide that this is a risk that needs taking...
///
Cutting through the grounds of sacred legislation and mystic men in Brooks Brothers suits,
So far from Hollywood, but matching 1929 sex appeal and romanticized images of gilded ghosts of America.
How do you keep all these agendas upon the people who claim to be the freest on Earth?
You making your living on collective barriers—
Has never stopped me from taking to the skies and leaving my confusion in the clouds,
All my worries absorbed by the cold cotton balls I have no option but to soar through.