Flying high over the man built dam
Is surely of no avail
To be that much stronger now
And seek out the mountain trail
The wind catches all the feathers
Keeps aloft from being heady
There are thoughts of other brethren
Strong, safe, sure and steady.
Soaring over the Yorkshire moors
The wind in with the tack
Guess some are the lucky ones
To have made it back
The blackness of the six o four
As it cuts like steel across the green
So beautiful it was before
Others came to change the scene
Gliding into the woodland
Feel the heat of others flying
Larger they are than appear to be
Some before have perished trying
One day they will surely leave
When there’s nothing left to kill
The mountain trail will return again
And the air once again be still |  |
