His heart is melting,
from the warmth of the engines,
that take him off into the skies,
like the flare in her eyes.

And she’s stalling,
deep inside,
And in the March monsoon that’s coming,
she’s getting out of sight.

And in the name of the crosswinds of the Straits that meet,
and the South China Sea,
up high, he’s gliding through thousands of feet,
to ground the agony she sees.

But in the cold rough clouds that are bitter,
and it hurts it’s a distance to reach her,
he looked up to the stars at Orion in vain,
“Why can’t we just love like Airplanes?”

Love like Airplanes.