I got myself a mission: I'm going to find heaven. I made crepe paper wings (I think they'll carry me well.) I left you a love poem, the best I have written. My favorite words were the ones I couldn't spell.
They say that I'm a lunatic, they say that I am full of it. I say that it's worth dreaming, just for the dream of it. It's all about passion, it's all about perception. Don't call me on my cell phone, 'cuz there ain't no reception when I'm gone.
I think I'm growing feathers, but I'm not quite sure of it, 'cuz I started getting dizzy about a hundred feet up.
I made friends with the clouds. I made friends with the birds (if you ask a goose a question, he never shuts up.) And honestly I miss you, and I hope that you're missing me, 'cuz I could use your lips on me (and a little bit of Dramamine.)
From here I can see way better than I've ever seen. Don't sell my stuff on Ebay, 'cuz I might be back before I'm gone.
I'm not the kind of man who's into looking downward. I've drank my share of pity from the bartender's cup. There are so many people wondering, "What's the right direction?" As far as I'm concerned, there's only one way up. Though my fingers are blisters and my eyes are bullet holes, my heart keeps beating. I guess I'm pretty lucky. Pretty lucky.