TRAFFIC IN THE SKY . . .

There's traffic in the sky
and it doesn't seem to be getting much better.
There's kids playing games on the pavement,
drawing waves on the pavement,
shadows of the planes on the pavement.
It's enough to make me cry,
but that don't seem like it would make it feel better.
Maybe it's a dream and if I scream,
it will burst at the seams.
This whole place will fall to pieces
and then they'd say ...

Well, how could we have known?
I'll tell them it's not so hard to tell.
If you keep on adding stones,
soon the water will be lost in the well.

Puzzle pieces in the ground
but no one ever seems to be digging.
Instead they're looking up towards the heavens
with their eyes on the heavens.
There are shadows on the way to the heavens.
It's enough to make me cry,
but that don't seem like it would make it feel better.
The answers could be found;
we could learn from digging down.
But no one ever seems to be digging.
Instead they'll say ...

Well, how could we have known?
I'll tell them it's not so hard to tell.
If you keep on adding stones,
soon the water will be lost in the well.

Words of wisdom all around
but no one ever seems to listen.
They're talking about their planes on paper,
building up from the pavement.
There are shadows from the scrapers on the pavement.
It's enough to make me sigh,
but that don't seem like it would make it feel better.
The words are still around,
but the words are only sounds,
and no one ever seems to listen.
Instead they'll say ...

Well, how could we have known?
I'll tell them it's not so hard to tell.
If you keep on adding stones,
soon the water will be lost in the well.

-- "Traffic in the Sky,"
Jack Johnson