the aviator

riding on the moonpath, in the silver of the night, the fragrance on the air, was of another time, i cried in all my innocence, you were dressed in white, and even if i'd had the strength, i couldn't move to save my life, the fear and the thrill, of the beast at the window, the shivers and the chills, on the hottest of nights, he walked right through, my open door, as i began to run, he threw, some gold upon the floor, and said, there's plenty more, where that came from, i'm tired of the bombs, i'm tired of the bullets, i'm tired of the crazies on tv, i'm the aviator, a dream's a dream whatever it seems, i flew along the lighted street, i flew above the town, i flew in ever rising cicrcles, ever further from the ground, as i begin to lose my breath, printed faxes turn a spin, a distant corner of the room, will open up and let me in, i'm tired of the news, i'm tired of the weather, i'm tired of the same thing every day, i'm the aviator, a dream's a dream whatever they say