Air Traffic
Adam Young
The bird is here and we are off to wherever those wings take us.
The atmosphere is crawling with airlines
that wind through the clouds and look down on the crowds.
Relax your back and let the noise sing you to sleep in my arms.
If you awake before we arrive I will carry you down and I won't make a sound.
The scent is strong as we move on and breathe in the pristine crime scene.
The false veneer is old like a substitute volunteer from, oh, some other year.
I'm just a show as far as I can tell, so I paint my eyes a light green.
The silver beams are twirling and swirling throughout your dreams like air traffic streams