10,000 feet above

Oh the fleeting fragrances of my former life
Nothing is as everlasting, savory as the smell of dried
sweat amidst burning coals and cold liqour- ah, the American
summer.
Now that the anestesia is wearing off, I know my time on Sweet Earth
is nearly gone- at least earth, which is land, which is love, which is
America,
Which is all I know.
Beneath the sulphuric bliss, they're still doing the Western Dance.
My eyes are finally off the TV, and I'm looking down,
1 0 , 0 0 0 feet above. I'd gladly trade the intelligence, the unnatural
Power, the domination; for a bird's serene view.
I'd join in the human orchestration but I've seen too much of the
past-
I've invisioned the forgotten calm.