Jethro Tull - Aeroplane текст песни

Flying, made of sticks and paper.

My aeroplane

Dying, is the wind not climbing?

My aeroplane

Blowing, and going somewhere high;
In the evening tumblin' down,
But it's surely been up there.

Crying, want to live my life as my aeroplane

Sighing, in the [sun time, but softly?]

My aeroplane

Lonely, but only until it comes down
Where there's people running 'round.
But it's surely been up there,
Flying.

My aeroplane
My aeroplane
My aeroplane
My aeroplane