Flying Colours

A man running away from home, because who needs an individual, anyway?

Going away again
Gone to catch the next west-bound train
Wondering when he'll stop again
And who-all knows his real name

Been left again
Maybe not the way she was before
Hoping that someone will return again
Knowing she can't really pray for more

It was a south-bound call
And bad communication
That took a man standing tall
And a woman pining at the station

But what could we do
What could we do?
It wasn't taxes or the masses or
Censoring or pirating

It was just a south-bound call
And bad communication
A man standing tall
As he flew a bird to the nation

He faced the setting sun

And she faced it as it rose

And he faced the train tracks
And she faced the cold facts

He wanted to get away
She wanted his hand

Well I guess he got his way
And her wish flows with the sand 

It was a south-bound call
And bad communication
That took a man standing tall
And a woman pining at the station

But what could we do
What could we do?
It wasn't taxes or the masses or
Judging or running

Just a south-bound call

And bad communication

Someone lost it all

But it must be just a tickling sensation

The End

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