Covicts Of The Air
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Convicts of the air.
Mirror painted airplanes floating to some distant fancy fair.
Carrying with them several servant, lovely ladies of the air.
Where will you be tonight?
Where will you be tomorrow?
Where will you be tonight?
Where will you be tomorrow?
Smiles are frozen, on that cheeks.
There's no complaint, there's no regret.
They cope with tradesman and with freeks, but loating's deep inside their head.
Where will you be tonight?
Where will you be tomorrow?
Where will you be tonight?
Where will you be tomorrow?