| Now and then behind the rows
|
| Of pearly teeth and fashion clothes
|
| She sees them in the mirror-tiles
|
| Trying on their latest smiles
|
| Light and warmth from spotlight beams
|
| Convincing them their nightmare is a dream
|
| Now and then when they’re at rest
|
| Flocked in sleep in cuckoos' nests
|
| Feeling safe no need to hide
|
| She opens doors and windows wide
|
| And poised upon her painted claws
|
| She stretches out her gaudy wings and soars
|
| Far away
|
| Borne by the wind
|
| She roams the sky
|
| No one to say … too low … to high
|
| Or count the lonely miles that she has flown
|
| This world is hers alone
|
| But then again behind the rows
|
| She feels the piercing looks of those
|
| Who watch her every move in case
|
| She happens to forget her place
|
| Who sum her up … deny her flight
|
| Aim their words and shoot her down on sight
|
| Far away
|
| Borne by the wind
|
| She roams the sky
|
| No one to stay … too low … too high
|
| Or count the lonely miles that she has flown
|
| This world is hers alone
|
| (guitar solo)
|
| Far away
|
| Borne by the wind
|
| She roams the sky
|
| No one to stay … too low … too high
|
| Or count the lonely miles…
|
| Far away
|
| Borne by the wind
|
| She roams the sky
|
| No one to say … too low … too high
|
| Or count the lonely miles that she has flown
|
| This world is hers alone
|
| Far away, far away |