Little guys fly their kites high enough to wing it
Settle little closer now, stop the slack- string it
Aim too high Icarus with wings
They don't listen so I say so be it
Stuck in dreams of all colors muted to the tounge
Killing slaughter left and right I hope I find the one
But be it
I see it
Straight in the sky
No cloud nearby
but they hold high
The kites I mark as mine
