Jet Pilot

Wired were the eyes of a horse on a jet pilot
One that smiled when he flew over the bay,
Wired were the eyes of a horse on a jet pilot
One that smiled when he flew over the bay
My horse is a shackled old man
His, his remorse was that he couldn’t survey
The skies right before they went grey,
My horse and my remorse
Flying over our great bay
My source is the source of all creation,
Her discourse is that we all don’t survey
The skies right before
Right before they go grey,
My source and my remorse
Flying over our great bay