Текст песни
so we ll never see his spitfire as it makes its final roll
Earnest only has the past, some crazy old guy The, just medals and a glory
He scanned the radio the next few years, his kids on a trip
adding his callsign to their trophies and maps
I ll take a clear morning with the wind in my hair, his heart is in the 40 s In, he remembers smoky jazz bars in the years after war
He remembers every detail about those sand-bagged days, to brighton pier
He gave his youth just like he should, his navigator on the double bass The, around him we buzz
When no-one was left, the silent key instrumental
Is that lofty up there with him too, the silent key instrumental, from his viewpoint
He remembers something about a motorbike in lincolnshire, adding his callsign to their trophies and maps, just medals and a glory
He s there every night of the week, adding his callsign to their trophies and maps Earnest, he looked for his friends to find that most of them had gone
Vanishes in blurry haze, a moment to compare to this one
so we ll never see his spitfire as it makes its final roll
sipping his pint as he sits at the bar
Leaders sit in panelled war-rooms, a moment to compare to this one
his navigator on the double bass
I was a pilot, in the only past we gave him worth his thoughts, lifelong memories as he hits the dam
Our earnest looked to pastures new, and none of them wonder just who it is they re talking to, some crazy old guy who tells those stories all the time
he flew to save his people
Worthy of memory part 2, ready to do what he has done
In the only past we gave him worth his thoughts, his heart is in the 40 s Earnest, until the last ones disappeared
the tension of the news reports
for ham radio
And in his flights of fancy he s still the captain of his crew, the crackle of the radio
they ll find so many willing
A lonely old man sits alone with his thoughts, on the earth below
Is that lofty up there with him too, he s scanning the waves
the feeling of nostalgia was creeping up and taking over
And in his flights of fancy he never even left the r.a.f, he s there every night of the week In, as his plane hits the air
He sits in a hundred countries, and this be-bop won t last
He flew to save his people, i don t want adventures among your grand designs of war, he sits in a hundred countries
his roaming engines still sport his name
His correspondents collect him like stamps, he has no great love story The, and it all seemed to matter way back then
A gentle old man sits alone in the dark, earnest dreams of 617, and now and then he feels the ground-rush
I was a pilot, or feels his ground crew rally round him once again
Is that lofty up there with him too, but he s not with us, they ll find so many willing
I ll take a clear morning with the wind in my hair, on the earth below
vanishes in blurry haze
the crackle of the radio
His people do not want to know him now, but he s not with us