Plane

I fell for you in your attic

Over the hum and grind of afternoon traffic

We should be pleased to have shared the breeze or a bus

Now you ask what was the fuss

It was the tone of your letter

And the fit of herringbone sweater

You know it's true,

I would sell this shelf full of records

For a ride to your affection

All these delays and transferred planes

Oh I would number the days and time zone changes

Another mountain range and I'm headed south again

Back to the Blue Ridge and the red, red clay

And I'd rather be resting in your arms

Than this window seat

Where everything's clear and warm

In the stratosphere in these heated chairs

Oh the thin, thin air

I just wanna be down there