| I was driving across the burning desert
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| When I spotted six jet planes
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| Leaving six white vapor trails across the bleak terrain
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| It was the hexagram of the heavens
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| It was the strings of my guitar
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| Amelia, it was just a false alarm
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| The drone of flying engines
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| Is a song so wild and blue
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| It scrambles time and seasons if it gets through to you
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| And then your life becomes a travelogue
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| Of picture postcard charms
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| Amelia, it was just a false alarm
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| Now people will tell you where they’ve gone
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| They’ll tell you where to go
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| But till you get there yourself you will never really know
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| Where some have found their paradise
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| Others just come to harm
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| Oh Amelia, it was just a false alarm
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| I wish that she was here tonight
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| It’s so hard to obey
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| Her sad request of me to kindly stay away
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| So this is how I hide the hurt
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| As the road leads cursed and charmed
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| I tell Amelia, it was just a false alarm
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| A ghost of aviation
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| She was swallowed by the sky
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| Or by the sea, like me she had a dream to fly
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| Like Icarus ascending
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| On beautiful foolish arms
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| Amelia, it was just a false alarm
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| Now maybe I’ve never really loved
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| I guess that is the truth
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| I’ve spent my whole life in clouds at icy altitude
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| And looking down on everything
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| I crashed into her arms
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| Amelia, it was just a false alarm
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| I pulled into the Cactus Tree Motel
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| To shower off the dust
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| And I slept on the strange pillows of my wanderlust
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| I dreamed of 747s
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| Over geometric farms
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| Dreams, Amelia, dreams and false alarms |