Jet Pilot
Wired were the eyes of a horse on a jet pilotOne that smiled when he flew over the bayWired were the eyes of a horse on a jet pilotOne that smiled when he flew over the bay
My horse is a shackled old manHis, his remorse, was that he couldn't surveyThe skies, right beforeRight before they went greyMy horse and my remorseFlying over our great bay
Wired were the eyes of a horse on a jet pilotOne that smiled when he flew over the bayWired were the eyes of a horse on a jet pilotOne that smiled when he flew over the bay
My source, is the source of all creationHer, discourse, is that we all don't surveyThe skies, right beforeRight before they go greyMy source, and my remorseFlying over our great bay