Verse 1

The runway shakes beneath the wheels

The morning tears its paper skin

You check the gauges, grin at me

And count us down to where we begin

The cockpit glass turns pale and gold

The ground falls back, the clouds draw near

Your steady hands pull hard and clean

We carve a line across the atmosphere

Verse 2

We bank so low the fields look drawn

Then climb until the map is gone

You call the turn, I feel it bite

We tip the wings and chase the light

The engine roars, the compass swings

A silver thread cuts through the blue

No fence can hold the open sky

No road can tell us what to do