Hey Jean This is Henry McCLean An´ I´v finished my beautiful flying machine
An´ I´m ringing to say
Ahat I´m leaving An´ maybe You´d like to fly with me And hide with me baby
Isn´t it strange how little we change, Isn´t it sad we´re insane Playing the games that we know end in tears, The games we´ve been playing For thousands and thousands and thousands
Jumped into his cosmic flyer, "pull this plastic glider higher Light the fuse and stand well back," he cried, "this is my last goodbye"
Point me at the sky and let it fly Point me at the sky and let it fly
Point me at the sky and let it fly
And if you survive till two thousand and five I hope you´re exceedingly thin For if you are stout you will have to breathe out While the people around you breathe in (breathe in... breathe in... breathe in...)
People pressing on my sides is something that I hate And so is sitting down to eat with only refuse on my plate Point me at the sky and let it fly