Jet Pilot

{Chorus}: Wired were the eyes of a horse on a jet pilot
One that smiled when he flew over the bay {x2}

My horse is a shackled old man
His, his remorse
Was that he couldn't survey
The skies, right before
Right before, they went grey
My horse, and my remorse
Flying over a great bay
{Chorus}
My source is the source of all creation
Her discourse is that we all don't survey
The skies, right before
Right before, they go grey
My source and my remorse
Flying over a great bay
{Chorus}
{Bridge}:Where were the eyes of a horizontal jet pilot
One that smiled when he flew over the bay {x2}
{Chorus}
{Bridge}