|
I was driving across the burning desert |
|
When I spotted six jet planes |
|
Leaving six white vapor trails |
|
Across the bleak terrain |
|
Like the hexagram of the heavens |
|
Like the strings of my guitar |
|
Amelia, it was just a false alarm |
|
The drone of flying engines |
|
Is a song so wild and blue |
|
It scrambles time and seasons |
|
If it gets through to you |
|
Then your life becomes a travelogue |
|
For the picture post card charms |
|
Amelia, it was just a false alarm |
|
People will tell you where they've gone |
|
They'll tell you where to go |
|
But till you get there yourself |
|
You never really know |
|
Where some have found their paradise |
|
Others just come to harm |
|
Amelia, it was just a false alarm |
|
I wish that he was here tonight |
|
It's so hard to obey |
|
His sad request of me to kindly stay away |
|
So this is how |
|
I hide the hurt |
|
As the road leads cursed and charmed |
|
I tell Amelia, it was just a false alarm |
|
The ghost of aviation |
|
She was swallowed by the sky |
|
Or by the sea |
|
Like me she had a dream to fly |
|
Like Icarus ascending |
|
On beautiful foolish arms |
|
Amelia, it was just a false alarm |
|
Maybe I've never really loved |
|
I guess that is the truth |
|
I've spent my whole life in clouds at icy altitudes |
|
And looking down on everything |
|
I crashed into his arms |
|
Amelia, it was just a false alarm |
|
I pulled into the cactus tree motel |
|
To shower off the dust |
|
And I slept on the strange pillows of my wanderlust |
|
I dreamed of seven forty sevens |
|
Over geometric farms |
|
Dreams, Amelia, dreams and false alarms |
