This Wasn'T Supposed To Be About Planes

I do not wanna subjugate all my laws At the gates and above center of the floating tabernacle. I cannot be responsible for all your happiness, Not to mention the mistrust. And to raise your lids even while my head is bowed, as is often bowed, Would be a catastrophe of a miracle. The plane is swaying, malfunctioning, The airstrip we worried over landing on was fine, is fine, will always be fine, We are the plane, The airstrip the uncontrollable, unchanging outside, And I am here at the gate With my most recent refundable plane ticket, Though swaying as I do, Controlling what little I do, Like gazing through a window's volcano view.