he crawled along like he was lonely
he came the longest way home
he thought he’d make it by being lucky...
he thought he’d take his time,
he thought he’d take his time.
the rush begins with each day ending
twilight lights a starlet’s gown
another orpheus descending...
and in the eyes of God
where angels speak our names,
there is no right or wrong—
it all must be the same:
the weeping streets of flame,
the little yellow paper airplane.
I know I’ve felt this way before
I know I’ve felt this way before
he crawled along like he was lonely
he came the only way he knew
he thought he’d make it by being lucky...
and in the eyes of God
where angels call our names,
there is no right or wrong—
it all must be the same:
the wild sweeping rain,
the little yellow paper airplane
it all must be the same:
the weeping streets aflame,
the little yellow paper airplane.
