Airbone
We’re airborne, baby
through the words, sharp corners around pylon teeth.
Round that nervous bend in your brow.
Airborne baby, that’s where we are.
Highways are made of dust and colour.
Speed faster, babe,
blur the signs together.
Speed past burning trees,
miss the turn-off.
On the highway
On the highway
This is higher than we’ve ever been.
We’d never get paid for this;
Talk is cheap
Paper is expensive.
Down the highway,
Down the highway, baby,
we’re flying.
If you fall I won’t catch you.
Love isn’t real unless your ass hits the ground.
Fall for me baby,
fall for me.
We got matches
and water.
And our heads.
We’re airborne baby, its where we are.
Not where we’ll stay.
Aimee Louw 