Sometimes the noise of a plane passing overhead
Drowns all other sound and kills it dead
At others a quieter aircraft appears unexpectedly, surprisingly near
Narrowly, rapidly pursuing its descending trajectory
Dominating the view from my bedroom window
Igniting a tiny unwanted spark of fear
Will it crash? Will it crash?

None has crashed yet, not round here
Serene and mostly high above they pass and rapidly disappear
Obliviously delivering such highly valued freight
As human beings back from holiday
Or the latest "smart" bombs with their messages of death and hate.

Lovely, aren't they, and cleverly crafted
Designed so the lucky few may soar above
And feel superior to those far below
Like movie heroes just beating the inevitable wall of flame
Escaping the shocking weather to commandeer their favourite sunny getaway
Hoping that their hearty chuckles, industrial heat and noisy machines
Might be enough to wipe their unforeseen consequences clean

That beautiful desirable laboriously polished surfaces of metal
Will prove impossible to ignore, sweep or burn everything before
Enable them to tick their boxes, hit their targets, achieve their dreams
Demonstrate their righteous superiority
Finally banish any phantom thought remaining
Will it crash? Will it crash?

With a mighty effort we mount the air
Thrilled by the depth into which we might fall
Determined and ready to sacrifice everything to beat them all
So that we can exercise our right not to care
About the losers huddled beneath the clouds
Through which we cut such an unrelenting path
Leaving a trail of promises broken and wasted resources
Dedicated to the demands of economic forces
Flying away on a ride so thrilling
It's easy to ignore what we might be killing

And I with my feet on the ground too stolidly
Must pause and lift my eyes once more
To the rapid passing by of those who appear
To have passed the great test of life
While I tut and try to forgive the distraction
And may sometimes reflect that
One doesn't want to be remembered for having passed
But for having been present

And that any crashing done round here
Is solely into the pillow case
For the purpose of obtaining peaceful rest
And finding one's dreams the old fashioned way
Without the terrible need for jet propulsion
Or the nagging stressful sensation of having had to run away

It's ******* round here but I'm not going anywhere until it gets better
It's lovely round here and so are all the people
I live like a tourist so why go touring?

We have arrived at our destination
Trying to deny that would be silly and boring
So instead of flying off in search of escape and anecdotes
Why not dare to share the ultimate adventure
Of trying to have an honest and intelligent conversation?