The Hearing Trumpet

Could it be, this woman sitting next to me
With jewels in her hair and peacocks in her smile
The flights over
Flights over

Could it be, disregarding my subtle advances
I lift to her nose, in faces she's enchanted
I rest my appeals and subside into my window
She lifts a vague ear but my mouth won't pry open

No, the flights over
No, the flights over

Could it be, this woman sitting next to me
With jewels in her hands and peacocks in her smile

The flights over
Flights over

No, flights over
No, flights over