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There's a snap as you step on a twig |
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We're frozen on tiptoes in fear |
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And sink to our heels in relief |
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Past kids on their paperround trails |
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Milkfloats and shiftworker cars |
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And revellers staggering home |
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Rendezvous at the top of the park |
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Gaze down at the smoke and the lights |
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The buildings suspiciously quiet |
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And I reach for a Paperchase bag |
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Rip pages from plain A4 pads |
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Write notes for the city below |
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And I'm folding arrows, and you're folding darts, dear |
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And I'm E H Mathews and you're Ninomiya |
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It's all in symmetrics and aerodynamics in classic design |
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As it glides from my hands |
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Past the padlocked park gates |
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Through the cold city streets |
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Past the tired chief execs |
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Somersaults and pirouettes |
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Past health spa retreats |
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Venture capitalists |
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'Til they swoop and they fall |
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Paper aeroplanes are raining down |
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Just to haunt you |
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We'll launch 'til we drop |
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Chapped hands and sharp paper cuts |
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Bruises and javelin arms |
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And they'll glance off the lampposts and trees |
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Knock hats off the suits in the street |
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And land in their coffees and teas |
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So I'm making airfoils and you've built a fuselage |
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I'm writing sound bites and you've written monologues |
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So, pick the targets, they'll fly with a serene velocity girl |
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Glide and then fall |
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Past the rush hour cars |
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And the cinema aisles |
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And the rooftop hotels |
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Pirouettes and somersaults |
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Past old market stalls |
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And juvenile courts |
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Til they swoop and they fall |
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Paper aeroplanes are raining down |
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Just to haunt you somehow |
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And as the sun comes up |
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Gaze at the horizon and ask |
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What on earth is going on? |
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Pirouettes and somersaults |
