You're not flying in my skies again
Not after that landing
Or that skewed approach
You're not getting off the ground this year
Limitless corrosion
Questionable skills

You woke up in a cotton-white cube
Clutching hand-forged papers
Muttering callsigns
You were found in numerous back streets
Holding an umbrella like a satellite dish


Lyrics submitted by giantsquid

Ceiling Poem song meanings
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