Jet-Lag

Severed Heads
Bad Mood Guy
Jetlag
Rode in the grip of an angel
Hands tied in cords of gold
We’d made a deal, I went astray
Now I’m falling with hell to pay
Rode in the grip of an angel
Occupied with thoughts of gold
I learned a dance on the head of a pin
It didn’t save me from eternal sin
C Now I’m learning to fly by myself
Stealing my grain from the mouths of birds
Touch ground for an occasional birdbath
Crap on the heads of passers-by
«Fairy Land doesn’t last forever. Making fun of my moping around and being
A pain in the arse, etc., etc. Another one of these flying songs. We’ve
Actually dropped the lyrics on later versions. They’re a bit obvious
Y’know.»