Pilot Was A Dancer

William Westerman

Am I the last one living?
At the end of giving
The end of moving up
A storm without a cup
An end without a beginning
Am I the last one living?
Only sky high above me
Only sea down below
Holding my own shoulder
A relic from another's dream
Or the freest mind there's ever been
Yes? No? An answer?
Anything
All this sky high up above me
All this sea down below

The pilot was a dancer, a jagaloon
Though his eyes were opaque
And I know he will not answer
Still I hope he gets back soon
Am I the last one living?
At the end of giving
The center of the earth
Deciding my own worth
And whether I deserve forgiving
A coin without a purse
Holding my own shoulder
A storm without a cup
When I wake, I hear
The voices of those people I have hurt
Ringing in my ears
I can't shake the thought that
Whether I had cared or hadn't cared
It would always have brought me here
And brought me tears
Brought me here and brought me tears
Am I the last one living?
Brought me here, and brought me tears
Brought me here, and brought me tears
Am I the last one living?
The pilot was a dancer, a jagaloon
Though his eyes were opaque
And I know he will not answer
Still I hope he gets back soon

The pilot was a dancer
Though my eyes are opaque
Still I hold

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