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Chris Clavin
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September 12 2011
When the calendar counts down to this day again
I'll be on my way home at last
I'll be flying with the sun
Riding shotgun over icebergs so high and so fast
I'll be flipping through photos, looking over my notes
I'll be thinking about our plans
I'll be thinking about the first words I will say
Holding the armrest wishing it was your hand
I'll be waiting on runways and for bags to be claimed
Plotting the murder of the last few miles
I'll measure the distance from my seat to the hatch
And when the captain says go, I'll spring fast and wild
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With a skull on my shield, and 4 spinning wheels
I'll cross the bridges, I'll cross the state lines
And I won't stop for gas and I won't stop to eat
I'll put a quickened distance in time
And we can forget that I ever went away
We can forget all those calendar days
We can forget all those missings and wishings
And waiting for this day to change
Waiting for the numbers to change
Waiting for those calendar days
Waiting for those numbers to change
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