As the sun sets in the West, I look your way.
Tracing the high jet’s vapour trail.
It takes a route I wish above all I were on.
Wishing I were there not here like the Pink Floyd song.
As the sun sinks below the horizon I’d cross.
I listen of crazy diamonds and his loss.
But for each cloud that’s absent from this blue sky.
The thought of you, your silver lines fill my mind.
They keep me afloat, keep my head above the waves.
The thought of you, that plane, and our wishes to be saved.