We step aboard lively; our winged commuter is set to embark, Swallows fly around looking for crumbs; Unerring clouds roll majestically on. The flight is one we are called to make, Hitchhikers welcome us with oversized thumbs, We pick them up and welcome them into our skying ark.
Ours is a journey in which we are just our christian names, Our driver carefully announces them one by one; We are pleased to meet each other. Here is the chance for our small selves to unwind, Our inhibitions are juvenile, when all is said and done, We are never lonely when we know and share our life gains.
Our cabin gives us what the thin atmosphere has withdrawn, The journey thus far has never been more delightful; Soon our loved ones will embrace us. Only the strange thumbs seem edgy as we soar, Our mood changes little, as anticipation is insightful, The new day has fully arrived, called in by no gayer a morn.
We speed over turbaned streets toward NY’s skyscrapers, Our ark’s nose sharpens to open them out; We become prisoners strapped in. The sounds of our panic begin hitting glass, And on us whooshing winds are beginning to shout, We feel our ark swerve, the aura around our flight tapers.
We’ve slammed the north tower Peter, twin brother to Paul, Many jump off its high walls and then follow; Our sad driver waves us goodbye. We float above the mass fires and thickening dust, Nothing matters anymore; we are destined, we are hollow, Deliverance shall come, and succour, for we are victims all.