Over the glaze of
An abyss of country plain
I glide, the look
In the eye
Of the bald eagle
Napalmed
Into my disposition
As he seems to say,
“Don’t think about me.”
Over the glaze of
An abyss of country plain
I glide, the look
In the eye
Of the bald eagle
Napalmed
Into my disposition
As he seems to say,
“Don’t think about me.”