| My father was a farmer
|
| But his head was in the sky
|
| He worked everyday but Sunday
|
| 'Til the day he died
|
| He prayed for rain and thunder
|
| And listened for the sound
|
| In the dry years he went under
|
| He never got off the ground
|
| We all dream when we’re younger
|
| That we will do great things
|
| Me, I used to have a hunger
|
| To wear a pilot’s wings
|
| But the circle’s that I ran in
|
| Turned my head around
|
| And the planes I had my plans in
|
| Never got off the ground
|
| Don’t raise your hopes
|
| You hear so many say
|
| The higher they get
|
| The closer they are to flying away
|
| Fly away.
|
| Don’t raise your hopes
|
| You hear so many say
|
| The higher they get
|
| The closer they are to flying away
|
| They say there but for fortune
|
| Is the way it would have been
|
| If we could take a bigger portion
|
| We’d fill our hands again
|
| You see them on the sidewalks
|
| In the parks all over town
|
| Those who’ve taken flight
|
| Never got off the ground |