Snaking thru the station crowds on 2 hours sleep feels like ghosting.
Feels like christmas and sometimes it is.
And the snow hangs static.
Some nights I feel like Roger Peterson seeing the mountain.
I’ve got the yoke in my hands and I can't change anything.
You are the colour of a great ending.
These reruns start again;
Some nights I feel like the mountain and you are the plane.
Tracing lazy flight paths with my fingers on the window and waiting, I see yr house from the clouds and I wouldn’t change anything.
You are the colour of a great ending and I’m coming home.