The crowd will think it grace
But I can hear the wind assaulting my ears
I can feel the strain in my fingers
The skin is worn from holding on

My body twists and tucks
The crowd will think it a feat
I'm just surviving the threat
Of constant gravity
Just routine

I barely notice the effort anymore
They will label my instincts majesty
I'm just trying to stay up
Having felt the bottom
I no longer believe in the net