My room is on the 6th floor
Way up high
With a balcony, of course
And I do believe
That with a careful aim
I could float down and land
Right on top of that funny little car
With its funny little angry man
Beeping his horn so furiously
At the pollution and pain
What a surprise he’d get
When I popped in to say goodbye
Head first
And he’d probably get even angrier
At the way my blond hair
Was leaving sticky snail traces
In his treasured Athens grime
As it gently tickled his windscreen
But the railing is strong
With its rotting balsa wood
And high, coming almost up
To the belt she gave me
And I am weak
And my tears are too heavy
And I can’t find the strength
To see if I can fly anymore