The coffee pot is burnt and black
The regulars are coming back
A kid is standing by the door
A piece of paper on the floor
White wings drifting in the heat
Tumbling down a dusty street
Sailing slow above the sand
Slipping from a small child's hand
He folds the edge with steady care
A little ship for desert air
It catches wind beside the wall
Wait for the gust before the fall
White wings drifting in the heat
Tumbling down a dusty street
Sailing slow above the sand
Slipping from a small child's hand
The motel porch is peeling paint
The morning light is thin and faint
It glides across the concrete gray
Then floats a dozen yards away
White wings drifting in the heat
Tumbling down a dusty street
Sailing slow above the sand
Slipping from a small child's hand
The kid just watches as it flies
A tiny speck against the skies
It lands inside a rusted bin
Where all the lonely things begin
White wings drifting in the heat
Tumbling down a dusty street
Sailing slow above the sand
Slipping from a small child's hand
Just a piece of white paper
Sailing slow, sailing slow
Let it glide away now
Let it go
