7: The Place.
Roswell, they call it. A name, a mantra, hot air balloon
lies and stupid hicks unable to believe their own eyes.
Hell is trying to enjoy in evening what we did in the afternoon.
There are always those who will not believe in them:
overhead, air planes, only reminding me of who is dead, and
where we were and how shrill are those who condemn.
We sold our souls to save a world from the thunder
Of wings, from them coming from ground, below to above,
Seeing in their majesty only fear and never wonder.