I trimmed the wick on the tower for years
Now I watch from the porch as the dusk disappears
A folding of paper a crease and a throw
It climbs on the breath where the warm breezes blow
Paper airplane cuts the pine line
Reflecting the glow where the insulators shine
Steady as sector a beautiful sight
Guiding me home through the soft summer night
The pines stand tall like a picket fence row
Where the current sings soft in the lines down below
The plane banks left on a gust from the sea
Flashing a signal meant only for me
Paper airplane cuts the pine line
Reflecting the glow where the insulators shine
Steady as sector a beautiful sight
Guiding me home through the soft summer night
Glass on the lens throws a finger of gold
The plane catches fire a story retold
Wingtip flashes white on the crossarm wood
Better than any lamp that I ever could
Storms used to rattle the lantern room glass
This quiet is louder now the years pass
No fog horn to blow no logbook to sign
Just this flash of white on the telegraph line
Paper airplane cuts the pine line
Reflecting the glow where the insulators shine
Steady as sector a beautiful sight
Guiding me home through the soft summer night
The batteries dead in the big Fresnel eye
But the plane writes a verse across the dark sky
One more pass past the transformer
