Flying North

Metal bird dip wing of fire
 whose airlanes comb dark Earth
 the poles are tethers we were born in
 on the brink of a whole new deal
 on the floor of a hotel bar
 I'm staring right into the light
 and I'm drawn in like a moth
 and I'm flying North again...
 Here come the men in suits
 papers waving in the runway glare
 Lincoln steaming in the chilly air of the morning
 at the end of a double day
 at the back of an airport lounge
 I'm staring down into the cold
 and I'm worn out like a cloth
 and I'm flying North again tonight.
 Down with the landing gear
 up goes the useless prayer
 the poles are tethers we were born in
 now I'm back in the London night
 on a bench in a launderette
 I'm staring right into my face
 and I'm drawn out like a plot
 and I'm flying North again tonight.