I was on the wing and
I was watching myself fly
Sitting on the wing watching myself
As I fly the plane

I was on the wing and
I was watching myself fly
Sitting on the wing watching myself
As I fly the plane

The curious tales are the things that attract them
I saw your faces, you exist in a vacuum
Written on clipboards and thrown away once again

The product of what you deny
You're so content you will never ask why

So does this mean my memories
Are still as poignant as every routine
Now looking back changes the past
The books, the films
The faces of everybody

Welcome back to the ground where
Where I'm given time to think
How our memories and fiction
Both involve a common link

The easiest of answers is my sanity expired
But the synapse, the synapse, the synapse
Must have fired

I know this requires a sober explanation
But what I felt was not imagination
All of your questions have lost their appeal
Cause I can't help but wonder
What is real? What is real?

The curious tales are the things that attract them
I saw your faces, You exist in a vacuum
Written on clipboards and thrown away once again

I was on the wing and
I was watching myself fly
Sitting on the wing watching myself
As I fly the plane

I was on the wing and
I was watching myself fly
Sitting on the wing watching myself
As I fly the plane

The curious tales are the things that attract them
I saw your faces, You exist in a vacuum
Written on clipboards and thrown away once again

The product of what you deny
You're so content you will never ask why
Shift all the things you believe
And head in the clouds but weak at the knees

Ladies and gentlemen once the veil is removed
There is no going back
And this is my gift to you

So does this mean my memories
Are still as poignant as every routine
Now looking back changes the past
The books, the films
The faces of everybody