We fly by the seat of our pants,
Take to the air like birds,
Airborne,
Air burns on our faces
Hot summer
Hot day
Hot dog

Cold air.

We see cities we are not a part of,
We laugh at the little people with the
Shoelaces,
Untied
Slowing down to tie,
But we have none.
We have wings.
They don’t slow us down.

Walking in their worn-out, rot-out, cut-out paper people,
They have three things we don’t have:
1. Order
2. Society
and
3. Shoelaces.

Flying by the seat of our pants, our laughter echoes above the clouds.
We have three things they don’t have:
1. Color
2. Love
and
3. Wings.

Worn-out, rot-out, cut-out paper people please other paper people.
We are not worn-out, rot-out, cut-out paper people.
We are flying by the seat of our pants,
Flying with our wax wings,
Daedalus made one mistake:
Worn-out, rot-out, cut-out paper wings, they don’t fly.
You have to believe they will fly.
Then they will fly.

Flying by the seat of our pants,
Take to the air like birds,
Airborne,
Air burns on our faces
Hot summer,
Hot day,

Cold
Air.