As a young boy, I dreamed wide and high, Built wings from wonder, carved clouds in the sky. My cockpit? A box with a broom for a blade, An ace of the air in the world I made.
I soared past rooftops, past worry and rain, Dodging the fire of enemy planes. With nerves of steel and a pilot’s grin, I always found a way to win.
Each dive and roll, each daring feat, Was powered by hope beneath small feet. To guard my home, to brave the storm, My cardboard plane became my form.
I came back home with wind-blown hair, A hero welcomed with trumpet flair. No medals pinned, just stars in my eyes No one but me knew I’d ruled the skies.
And now… I’m tired. The day is done. The race has faded with the setting sun. But even as this body lies, My soul prepares again to rise.
For sleep is just the hangar door To launch me into dreams once more. So tuck me in, don’t say goodbye I’ll wake and once again… Return to the sky.
