Verse 1

You drew a little plane on a napkin at the diner,

Said the weather might break by the county line.

I took the left seat, you folded your jacket,

And the runway lamps disappeared behind.

Chorus

We flew through the fog with the windows gone white,

Your hand on the map, my eyes on the height.

No road below us, no fence, no sign,

Just your quiet voice saying, “We’ll be fine.”

Verse 2

The engine kept a patient, even ticking,

The compass needle trembled in its cup.

You told me how your father taught you flying,

And how he’d always climb when clouds came up.

Chorus

We flew through the fog with the windows gone white,