Soon we found we could fly ourselves
We all were lifted up on sturdy home-made wings
And in sixty-nine in the summertime
Well we danced to the sound of Swarb's flying fiddle strings
And all the rules and safety first were left unheeded then
And with the confidence of youth well we couldn't fail
No more

 

Now the years have flown and our lives have grown
And we're held aloft by torn and tattered wings
And over city streets in the pouring rain
We still dance to the sound of thumb-and-fingered strings
Now the screams are where our children make their music now
But soon enough they'll find their fledg'ling wings
And they'll play