Flying --- made of sticks and paper ---
Aeroplane.
Dying --- is the wind but climbing ---
My aeroplane.
Blowing, and going somewhere high ---
In the evening tumbling down ---
But it's surely been up there.
Crying --- want to live my life as
My aeroplane
Sighing in the sun's eye, but softly ---
My aeroplane.
Lonely, but only till it comes down
Where there's people running round.
But it's surely been up there.
Flying --- my aeroplane.
Writer(s): Anderson Ian Scott, Barnard Glen
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