Looking up at the passing clouds.
The planes are low on fuel; they're crashing down.
It's never quite the same the second time around.
Shadows passing faces walking through the crowds.

Voices in your head
things that you should have said.

Smiles faded; the past rang true.
Sweating collars and ties hang loose.
Mounting the courage to climb your stoop,
the flowers forgotten, the boy - he grew.

And faceless angels said,
"we feel much better now our lives are spent"