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Ceiling Poem Lyrics

Your not flying in my skies again
Not after that landing
Or that skewed approach
Your not getting of the ground this year
Limitless corrosion
Questionable skills
You woke up in a cotton-white cube
Clutching hand-forged papers
Muttering callsigns
You were found in numerous back streets
Holding an umbrella like a satellite dish
[repeat]
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