Runway Markings

Oh, isn't it a pity
That we mostly dance alone
In a distant self-reflection
Revolved around our own
Model galaxies of dream realities
We're painters of a picture that no one else can see

And you reach out through that wall of glass
You try to leave this stage at last
And you're running from the promises
That have been made to you in the past

All those sbagliato-red nights
Filled with snowy little white lies
Scattered out like Coltrane-Jazz lines
Visible in restless, wild eyes
Screwed myself in icy twilight
Squadron leader: drop the white lines
I would like to fly alone
But everybody's now a daby
And bourbon clouds black out the room
Everybody smiles like candy
As the runway markings start to loom

And you reach out through that wall of glass
You try to leave this stage at last
And you're running from the promises
That have been made to you in the past

You're a stranger in a house of glass
And you need too much too fast
And you're floating down an endless stream
And you're waiting for the crash