Negative, Ghostrider. The Pattern Is Full (click to listen)

Steve Cimino


The clouds are too thick to land
It’s too hazy to know where I am
The instrument panel is too dark to read
I’ll just try to keep it level and stay glued to my seat
There’s no room at home
My hanger has been sold and filled with the pointless and pitiful versions of all of
The things that I thought that I gave you with all my love

 

Raise the landing gear
There’s no room for me down there
You’ve grown tired of my perfect and well-practiced flight
I’ll just fly around in circles until all my engines die
I sense the end is near
My airspeed is slowing. My altitude is dropping
There’s a nice cornfield here I can lay it down gently in the middle of

 

The conditions are terrible. Who could’ve known?
The weather looked perfect before we left home
The sky was a picturesque, beautiful blue
The clouds were as soft and as gorgeous as you
But the moment we broke 30,000 feet the winds picked up
The gods started to speak
They said, “Turn around.” They said, “Set it down,” but it’s too late

 

I’ve been lonely before. I’ve felt lowly before. But never like this
I’ve missed you before and woke up on the floor. But never like this

Euphemism Campus Box 5555 Illinois State University Normal, IL 61790