Flying, made of sticks and paper. (Aeroplane.) Dying, is the wind not climbing? (My aeroplane.) Blowing, and going somewhere high; In the evening tumblin' down, But it's surely been up there. Crying, want to live my life as my aeroplane Sighing, in the [sun time, but softly?] (My aeroplane.) Lonely, but only until it comes down Where there's people running 'round. But it's surely been up there, Flying. (My aeroplane.) (My aeroplane.) (My aeroplane.) (My aeroplane.)