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[Byron]

Excuse my poor French. I do enjoy a good take off.

Charles de Gaulle arrivee
Charles de Gaulle departe
Charles de Gaulle est morte
Charles de Gaulle est Vie

Allotted our place in quiet contemplation
Allowing ourselves to submit to francais
This creature does awe me
In my seat of solitude
Pressure cook noises of forced air breathes on us
The coughs of the guests
Who have paid for their chairs

A pillow, a blanket, a locker, a seat-belt
Magazines cast aside by voyagers of yore
Hurried head-counts of teams paid to tend us
But not as well tended as those up the stairs

My first ever feeling within this jumbo oh oh oh
I wait for the wheels to reverse us once more
I'm new to this class of gigantic smooth flyers
I'm trapped in its walls and feel vibes through the floor

I listen intently to loudspeaker announcements
Given in French and at last in my tongue
I'm the only one listening of three hundred and fifty
Who talk back and forth in their own mother tongues

Strain to catch details which may be important
Curse under my breath at the din of these 'frogs'
Instructions stay rooted in language of safety
I wish to watch and listen for calm
In voices of actors who tell us its OK
Follow the mantra and come to no harm

And so we climb higher
Aspiring to Heaven
Places between the slough that is earthbound
Without hope of flowering
We're kissing the stars
But deafened by sound

The blast of the air flow
Makes each one a prisoner
Within his own hearing
While attempting to take
French newscasts beamed at us
As we head ever higher
Catching the news
Like a web in the void.