Andrew Bird

turnstiles on mezzanine
jet ways and Dramamine fiends
and x-ray machines
you were hurling through space
g-forces twisting your face
breeding superstition
a fatal premonition
you know you got to envision
the fiery crash
oh close your eyes and you wake up
face stuck to a vinyl settee
oh the line was starting to break up
just as you were starting to say
something apropos I don't know
beige tiles and magazines
Lou Dobbs and the CNN team
on every monitor screen
you were caught in the crossfire