Plane

I fell for you in your attic
 Over the hum and grind of afternoon traffic
 We should be pleased to have shared the breeze or a bus
 Now you ask what was the fuss
 It was the tone of your letter
 And the fit of herringbone sweater
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 You know it's true,
 I would sell this shelf full of records
 For a ride to your affection
 All these delays and transferred planes
 Oh I would number the days and time zone changes
 Another mountain range and I'm headed south again
 Back to the Blue Ridge and the red, red clay
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 And I'd rather be resting in your arms
 Than this window seat
 Where everything's clear and warm
 In the stratosphere in these heated chairs
 Oh the thin, thin air
 I just wanna be down there