We are the forlorn wing
The flyers on the foam
We did not volunteer
To leave our sacred home

As takeoff day draws near
We bid our bitter byes
And swallow down our fear
With thoughts of mother's eyes

The rain won't change a thing
But still we pray it pours
As if that pattering
Upon our hangar doors

Would be a good excuse
To ground a dozen planes
We know it is no use
But still we hope it rains