| I’m running out of fuel over Leningrad
|
| In seven lonely hours I’ll be gone.
|
| She just finished up her bridge to Jupiter
|
| I knew she would make it all along.
|
| They’re running low on funds at the planetarium
|
| In seven winter months they’ll have to close.
|
| Then Joesph swapped the gels in the west project
|
| So now the big bang bullet point list glows.
|
| Francis said to meet him near the gift shop
|
| And Io failed to light this afternoon
|
| He won’t mind if I decide to fix her
|
| Skip the coffee cakes and pink balloons
|
| I’m flying slow and low over the urals
|
| thirty frozen minutes until I can send
|
| Radar called out bogeys west of ussuriysk
|
| And Valdimirov had found me in the end
|
| And they still don’t see
|
| Cause the don’t know me, I am the night mare
|
| With bullets all around me in the cold, sun
|
| and shivering in Soviets with right, there
|
| and sparks this goddamn dog fight is a close, one
|
| I’m burning across the deck into a steep, climb
|
| Then rollover at eighteen thousand dive, dive
|
| Drowned in screaming tracers when I drop, brakes
|
| and tail paint all the migs around me, Jesus, I
|
| missed those fucking Christmas trees by inches, spilled
|
| communists and jet fuel on the ground.
|
| My supersonic jet it makes no sound.
|
| My supersonic jet it makes no sound.
|
| My supersonic jet it makes no sound.
|
| My supersonic jet it makes no sound. |