We’re just a bunch of flies.
Flies caught in a vessel flyin’ down a highway.
Maybe they’ll roll the windows down.
Space floods in and we’ll zoom out
to wonder where we are, how we got there,
whether or not we enjoyed the ride,
and if we really remember.
We’re just a bunch of insects
living in a rain drop, dropping in the sky.
Maybe they’ll save us in a bucket.
Insects, flys, flyin’ down highways to intersections.
Windows up singin’, thinkin’
we’ll be free when our worlds collide.
101, a one on one with ourselves.
Silent, thinkin’, flyin’ down the highway.
Silent, singin’, flyin’ down the sky.
this is your life chuck johnson 